


Bound Until Death

by gold_dust_witch



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Choking, Cunnilingus, Dark Brotherhood - Freeform, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Love Triangles, Making Out, Modded Skyrim, Oral Sex, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sex, Sexual Assault, Sexual Tension, Skyrim Romance Mod, Skyrim Spoilers, Slow Burn, Smut, Spanking, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:00:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 50,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25165849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gold_dust_witch/pseuds/gold_dust_witch
Summary: Rhiannon Jorrick returns to Skyrim after running away a decade earlier, only to discover that she is a living legend- the first Dragonborn in centuries. And what does she do when the weight of the world falls on her shoulders? She becomes an assassin instead. And a thief. And a companion. Pretty much anything other than the destroyer of Alduin.
Relationships: Aela the Huntress/Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Amalee/Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Balgruuf the Greater/Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Bishop/Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Brynjolf/Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Cael/Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Casavir/Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Cicero/Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Farkas, Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Kaidan, Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Lydia, Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Mercer Frey, Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Miraak, Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Serana, Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Ulfric Stormcloak, Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Vilkas
Comments: 14
Kudos: 60





	1. Caught Off Guard

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first attempt at a fanfiction, so I appreciate any constructive criticism!

A stray blue mountain flower tickles my ankle, and I fight back the urge to jerk my leg away. Any sudden movement could be the death of me right now. It seems that once again, my impatience is proven to be a fatal flaw. Had I been more patient, I’d be safe. Bored out of my wit while I wait to cross the border legally, but still safe.

Why am I returning to Skyrim again? The question crosses my mind only for a moment before I remember. My thoughts drift from the battle between brothers beyond the bushes in front of me to the letter in my pocket. I feel my hand slowly hover closer to it and must again force my limbs to stay in place. No more risks. Not now. My body stills, but I allow my mind to wander. 

When I concentrate, I can picture their faces. I can see them when I don’t concentrate, too, but they’re hazier, like I’m looking at them through a layer of fog. They are faces I’ll never see again. I guess, in the end, I got what I wanted.

I just realized too late that I didn’t really want it.

Tears begin to pool under my eyelids against my will when my ruminations are interrupted by a snapping branch directly behind me. A blade was at my throat before I could turn around.  
“Well, well. It seems like this ambush has proven to be more fruitful than anticipated.”

A rough hand hoists me to my feet by the back of my collar, and the sword falls away as the Imperial soldier lowers it and turns me to face him. I instinctively reach for the dagger at my hip, but the soldier snatches my wrists and begins to bind them in front of me. “You really don’t want to do that, lass.”

As he binds, I quickly take in my surroundings and see other soldiers in red busy taking soldiers in blue captive. None were particularly close to us. My soldier finishes his task and looks back up to meet my eyes. I smile. “You don’t have any idea what I want.” And with that, I throw my head forward, making contact with his nose.

My feet carry me exactly three steps before I register the sound of deep laughter behind me and feel an arm wrap around my waist, suddenly halting my sprint. “This one’s got some spirit! That’s a broken nose there, Lundvarr!” My new captor spins me around, and I see the man apparently named Lundvarr spit out a mouthful of blood and wipe more blood from underneath his now-smashed nose. The laughing soldier watches Lundvarr with a smile still on his face but keeps a tight grip on my shoulder. “If only you weren’t being arrested! We could really use someone with that fire in the Legion.”

Lundvarr growls and stalks towards us. “Oh, come now, Lundvarr. Can you blame the girl?”  
  
“Yes.”

The soldier with the injured nose and pride punches me between the eyes, and all I see is the Void.

When I woke up in a cart alongside Stormcloak rebels and Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak himself, I didn’t expect to be taken to be executed with them for simply crossing the border illegally. I also didn’t expect for that execution to be interrupted by the first dragon seen in hundreds of years. But hey, life can be full of all kinds of surprises.

When I left Hadvar, the Imperial soldier I escaped the dragon attack with, in Riverwood, he suggested I do two things. First, tell Jarl Balgruuf of Whiterun about the dragon so he can prepare his hold, and second, join up with the Imperial Legion. I’m on my way to warn the Jarl now, but I can’t help but laugh at the thought of joining the Legion after they just tried to execute me.

The walk to Whiterun is as simple as a walk could be, but it’s made much more taxing as I feel the exhaustion begin to set in my body. I drag my feet forward until the stables are finally in sight, barely illuminated in the dusk.

I had visited Whiterun once before, when I was thirteen. About a year before I left Skyrim. My parents had to travel to Riften for business and thought it was time to begin training me so I could one day take over. We spent a day in Whiterun on the way to the Rift, and our day there was lovely. The rest of the trip was...not.

That was when I decided to run away. Cliché, I know, but there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that I would have loathed my existence if I stayed.

Memories swirl in my mind as I approach the stables, and two voices become audible just past them. “By Ysmir, it’s true! A jester, funny suit and all. Just North, by the Loreius Farm. Fool had a coffin in a cart with a broken wheel.”

I freeze in my steps. A jester in Skyrim. What were the odds? There hadn’t been a jester here in decades. And now the day I come back, one is presented to me on a silver platter.  
  
One thing at a time. Dragonsreach looms over the city surrounding it, and I force my legs to keep moving. One giant hill and one vital conversation stands between me and rest.

Plush cotton engulfs me as I fall into a bed at The Bannered Mare, Whiterun’s inn. I had barely managed to stumble out of my armor before collapsing, and I drift into a deep sleep the moment my head hits the pillow.

Instead of dreams, my mind replays the events of the day while I sleep. The almost-execution, the dragon attack, my escape with Hadvar, my conversations with Jarl Balgruff and his court wizard. The only change made by my dreaming brain was the image of a faceless jester, watching it all from the shadows. I awaken with a gasp for air and three words on my lips. “Find the fool.”

After a moment, I realize I’m awake and shake my head as if I could shake my memory of Bravil out of it.

I had travelled to Bravil about two years ago. A merchant I was friendly with had just returned from being married in the Great Chapel of Mara there and enthusiastically raved to me about how beautiful it was after being rebuilt. She insisted it was worth a visit, and as I was in between mercenary contracts, I figured getting a contract in Bravil wouldn’t be any different than getting one in the Imperial City.

In a lot of ways, I was right. I was hired by a priest to investigate rumors that a skooma dealer had set up shop in a crypt below where some old statue used to be- a fairly normal job. I spent an evening in the tavern trying to gather any useful information, and I quickly found out why there was a random crypt below a statue in the middle of the town square. According to the residents, when the two original skooma dealers in town led the city into riots some years ago, it was discovered that the Dark Brotherhood had been keeping an old coffin below the statue. Rumors say it contained the Night Mother herself.

One crypt and a dozen dead skooma dealers later, and there I was, in the deepest and dankest depths of the catacomb, alone save for several corpses. And it was there that I heard a voice that was both jarring and soothing, rough and yet soft, distant and yet close enough that I could feel its vibrations.  
  
“There is a jester, a brother who needs you. Find the fool, and restore our family.”

I’ve spent the better part of the last two years convinced it was simply a hallucination fueled by the local Dark Brotherhood legends and the hanging fumes of cooking skooma, although it did admittedly have a lasting effect on me. I’ve made a solid attempt to avoid merrymen whenever possible, too much of a coward to mentally acknowledge the experience. A little less than a year ago, I passed one on a small backroad in the woods, a little ways from Cheydinhal. All I could muster was a forced smile and nod until my feet carried me far enough away to breathe again.

It was a shame, too. He was quite handsome, and I could tell by his face that he was...hungry as well. Dibella knows I could have used a bellywarmer.

Or maybe I’m flattering myself and what he actually craved was a nice bottle of mead or homicide or something.

No matter. That was then and this is now. And now it is time for me to prepare for the most critical job I’ve ever been hired to do. This dragonstone won’t retrieve itself, and if the damn Jarl of Whiterun trusts me to get the thing, then I cannot fail.


	2. The Gathering Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhiannon confronts her fear of jesters and meets Cicero outside of the Loreius Farm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it’s only been a day, but I’ve actually been working on this whole project for awhile, so the next several chapters will probably pop out pretty quickly. This was originally one chapter, but it was pretty long, so I split it up into two. Thanks to anyone reading this! Hope you enjoy :)

For the second day in a row, I throw myself onto my bed in The Bannered Mare. The dragonstone rests precariously on the pile of my armor on the ground. If I can claw my way through Bleak Falls Barrow in one day, Farengar’s pretentious ass can wait an extra few hours for me to sleep. At least I had a horse to carry me back to Whiterun on the way back. I just have to remember to find that khajiit’s kid or whatever when this dragon business has been dealt with. 

And to think, I was just starting to wonder if I should give up the mercenary business when this furrball slammed me with five thousand septims _and_ a horse upfront on my way to the barrow. 

Bleak Falls Barrow was fairly unimpressive as far as ancient ruins go. Bandits, spiders, draugr. Nothing special. The only feature that stood out was a massive wall with runes carved into it, one of them glowing. I couldn’t recognize the language, but I’m pretty sure the glowing one said ‘Fus’. Whatever the fuck that means. 

Eh, I’m sure it’s nothing important. 

Tomorrow, I’ll hand over the stone and (hopefully) get a decent reward. Then I can ride my new horse, whom I’ve named Damien, up to Solitude. Or maybe I’ll stay in Whiterun another day and find a travelling companion. Travelling long distances alone can be so dull. Perhaps I can sweep that wannabe-merchant off her feet, convince her to run away with me, take her on whirlwind adventures, and then break her heart in the most dramatically tragic way possible, leaving her with only her shattered dreams and the overwhelming feeling that she’ll never know love again.

No, that’s too many steps. 

I finally groan, sit up, and accept the inconvenient truth. I’ll never be able to sleep with that damn jester haunting the back of my mind. Hallucination or real life. This will reveal the answer and give me the peace I need. 

I roll out of bed and into my armor. Just North, the woman by the stables had said. That’s not so bad. Besides, I have Damien now. My body disconnects itself from my brain so it can ignore the physical fatigue and push me onward. The night’s not over yet. 

The sun hasn’t quite broken the horizon yet as I approach the lopsided wagon, but the first of its rays stretch into the sky and illuminate the curled up figure on top of a large crate in the back. I slow Damien until we come to a stop beside the fool’s horse, and I dismount. The moment my feet hit the ground, his do too. Light sleeper, I guess. His stature is rather small for a potential assassin, but hey, who am I to judge? I do, however, notice his hand rest on his hip...right by the unmistakable bulge of a dagger only partially hidden by his torso. If there’s one thing being a mercenary has taught me, it’s to always look for concealed weapons. 

Despite the knife, he genuinely appeared harmless, albeit jumpy and a light sleeper. Besides, travellers carrying weapons for self-defense is hardly unheard of. 

“Problem?” I ask, breaking the awkward second of silence. 

The fool visibly relaxes. “Poor Cicero is stuck,” he whined. “Can’t you see? I was transporting my dear, sweet mother! Well, not her. Her corpse. She’s quite dead.”

I definitely see why he hasn’t been able to convince anyone to help him in the last couple days. Though he has an attractive enough face, his height and his squeaky voice are... off-putting. And that’s not even to mention the way he talks.

“I’m taking Mother to a new home, a new crypt. But...agh!” 

My hand leaps to the hilt of my own dagger at his unexpected scream, and I sheepishly lift my arm and comb my fingers through my hair in a sad attempt to cover my reflex. The effort was in vain, however, as his eyes dance to my hips and narrow in on my weapon. But to my surprise, he laughs and claps gleefully. 

“A smart and quick woman you are! Foolish Cicero almost believed you would attack me. But you are here to help, not harm, yes? Your eyes are far too kind to see poor Cicero hurt.”

I smile softly. “Well, I _am_ here to help, but I’m not sure I would give myself the credit of being kind. What _can_ I do to help?”

“Stuff and nonsense! A whole day I’ve been stuck and stranded with no kind person to be found, and now you are here!

“But no matter. Go to the farm, the Loreius Farm, and talk to Loreius. He has tools! He can help me, but he won’t! Please, oh please, kindly stranger! Convince him to help me fix my wheel!” 

Cicero grins, and I marvel at the caricature of a man before me. His deep red hair matches his motley perfectly; he is clean-shaven and shorter than I am, despite the fact that he’s clearly an adult. I internally groan at my own stupidity. Of course this man isn’t a damn assassin, and I’m a bigger fool than he is for ever thinking otherwise. A madman, without a doubt, but no assassin. 

“Of course I’ll talk to Loreius,” I answer with a sympathetic smile. Cicero claps again as I turn to the farm and suddenly remember how early it is. The sun has finally made an appearance, but just by a sliver. I look back at Cicero. “I should probably wait until we know he’s awake before I talk to him. Wouldn’t want him to be even grumpier if I wake him up. Farmers get up early anyways, so it shouldn’t be long.” 

“Oh, Cicero understands! Cicero also never forgets a face. You were travelling outside Cheydinhal nine months ago, weren’t you?”

I blink in total shock. I thought his face looked familiar, but my memory is awful, so I couldn’t place it. “Uh yeah, I was, and I passed by a jester on the road. That was you?” Maybe the universe is giving me another chance to bed the fool now that I know what happened was a hallucination. 

“It was indeed! I was out for a stroll, for a break from my...duties.” On the last word, Cicero’s voice drops in both pitch and volume, and a strange shadow passes over his face. “I couldn’t take a break from all of my duties, though.” He now pauses for a moment until he slides back into his cheerful persona. “And now I’m so glad that I couldn’t!” 

He seems to have enough sense to read the confusion that paints my face, but rather than explaining, he steers the conversation back. “You walked on so quickly, you disappeared! You were there...then you weren’t! Did you mean to introduce yourself to poor Cicero or not? I’m left to wonder….” 

My face scrunches in embarrassment at the memory. “Uh yeah, sorry. I wasn’t...feeling very social,” I manage to mumble in response. 

“Ah, I see. Well, may Cicero know your name now?” he asks, plopping down onto the edge of his wagon, eyebrows raised. 

“Oh! Of course. I’m Rhiannon. Pleased to make your acquaintance,” I say with an overdramatic bow. 

Cicero squeals in delight. “Rhiannon! A fun and pretty name for a fun and pretty girl!” 

The way he sings my name brings a deep blush to my cheeks, and him calling me pretty only aides it. I’m about to stammer out my thanks when he leaps to his feet, his body inches away from mine, but his eyes looking past me. 

“A light is on; a candle has been lit! Hurry, hurry, hurry, you must go, go, go!” Cicero begins waving me on and jumping ecstatically. 

“Wait!” I should, searching my head for any excuse I could to procrastinate leaving the jester. He freezes now, and for a fraction of a second, he looked angry enough to kill. Then the moment passes and he smiles at me expectantly. “We should...give them some time. You know, give them a chance to fully wake up, eat breakfast, do whatever. So we don’t interrupt their morning too rudely.”

Cicero’s burgundy brow furrows. “Well...I suppose they may be more...amiable if we wait…,” he murmurs anxiously before his too-wide grin snaps back into place. “And that would give us more time to...get acquainted.” 

Heat returns to my cheeks at his brief pause and any implications that could have been lurking there.

Or maybe I’m just flattering myself again. Mara help me, I _just_ got over my aversion to merrymen, and not even an hour later, I want so desperately to bed one. 

Suddenly, every doubt I had of his attraction to me is more or less eradicated as he steps forward so he’s right in front of me, his copper eyes staring unblinkingly into my brown ones, and he grasps my chin between his thumb and finger to tilt my face up to his. 

I could have sworn he was shorter when we started talking. 

“I may be a fool, but I’m no fool, sweet Rhiannon,” he says quietly. Our mouths are so close I can feel his hot breath against my lips. 

And in another instant, he’s gone, dancing and fretting about his wagon. He skips from place to place, examining the large crate from every angle and checking that it’s secure. “Poor Mother,” he whines in his usual voice. “Her new home seems so very far!”

My heart still feels like it will burst from my chest, but it sinks with the realization that the moment has passed. I try my best to play it cool and ask, “Where’s your mother’s new home?” as nonchalantly as I can. 

“Falkreath!” Cicero replies cheerfully, still more focused on the crate. 

“Why are you moving her body there from...Dawnstar?” I ask, trying to remember what town this road leads to up North.

Cicero freezes and then turns away from me. I can’t see his face, but I can hear the frown in his voice. “Her original home was desecrated,” he spat, “And her more recent home was...inadequate.” 

The heartbreak in his words is tangible and slams me in the gut as I think of my own family. “I understand,” I whisper. Cicero turns back to me with a mixture of curiosity and something else on his face. Sympathy? Concern? Disbelief? For someone with such exaggerated behavior, he could be difficult to read. 

“I lost my mother, too, recently. And my father. Attacked by bandits while travelling. I missed the funeral because I was in Cyrodiil, but they were buried in Solitude. It doesn’t feel good enough for them. I don’t think anywhere would feel good enough for them,” I admit. 

I stare at the ground, half expecting the fool to laugh. The other half expected him to be angry that I assumed to know how he feels. What I did _not_ expect was for him to close the distance between us in two long strides, cup my face in both of his hands, and plant his lips firmly on mine. My eyes widen at first but then slowly flutter closed as I lean into the kiss and slide my hands down his torso until the settle around his waist. I feel him tense under my touch, and I realize he’s much more muscular than I expected him to be. Cicero’s hands shift from my cheeks to the back of my head where he entwines his fingers in my hair, gently pulling. A soft moan escapes my lips and vibrates against his mouth. He uses the opening to slip his tongue into my mouth instead and gently glide it along my own tongue. One of his hands keeps a tight hold on my hair, but the other begins to drift down my neck and back at an agonizing pace until-

“Oh, for the love of Mara, what now!”


	3. Delayed Burial But This Time With Feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhiannon more or less works things out with Loreius and learns more about her new pal Cicero.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes, the rest of the Delayed Burial quest. I never really liked how the only options were to convince Loreius to help or to turn Cicero in, so this is a slightly different take. Also this fanfic is running alongside a play-through I'm doing, so if anyone is actually reading this and would like it if I added screencaps for flavor's sake, just lemme know! Enjoy~

"Oh, for the love of Mara, what now!"

My forehead slams into Cicero's as both of us jump at the sound of a man's yell nearby. By the time my blurred vision clears, he's halfway between us and the farm. This must be Loreius. I glance at Cicero. He has his hands in his pockets and is staring off into the distance, lips puckered as he mimes whistling.

The man is mad for sure, but by Oblivion could he kiss.

I clear my throat as I turn back to Loreius. "Is uh...something wrong?" I see Cicero stifle a laugh out of the corner of my eye. 

"Is something wrong?" he mocks as he approaches. "Yes, something is bloody well wrong! Do you think I'd somehow miss some random wench shoving her tongue down the throat of a demented little man in jester's garb outside my house?"

I open my mouth, ready to give this bald prick a piece of my mind, but Cicero explodes before I have the chance. "Wench? Unfair! Unjust! Sweet Rhiannon has done nothing wrong!"

"Save the protests for someone who cares, fool."

"Hey," I say, stepping between them. Cicero is turned in a way that blocks Loreius' view, but I can see his hand inching towards his dagger- which, now in the sunlight, I see is made from ebony. Maybe this jester really is more dangerous than I thought. "Look, Cicero doesn't want to be here any more than you want him here. If you could just fix the damn wheel, we'd be glad to move on elsewhere. What's the problem? I'm sure he'll pay you." Cicero nods reluctantly, still visibly upset. 

"Pay me? You think this is about money? Have you _seen_ the man? He's completely out of his head! Ain't been a merryman in these parts for a hundred years. And he could have anything in that giant box. War contraband, weapons, skooma. No way am I getting involved in that."

"More lies and treachery!" Cicero shrieks. I grab his wrist before he can draw his weapon, shaking my head at him, hopefully subtly enough for Loreius not to notice. Cicero is still slightly turned, and I'm able to snatch his arm without exposing the blade.

I look back at Loreius. Stubborn jackass. "I get it, alright? But if the wheel doesn't get fixed, he doesn't leave." The man only reacts by glaring at me, and I roll my eyes. "Okay, can we just _use_ your tools, and I'll fix it?"

Loreius' expression softens, just barely, before he laughs in my face. "You? You wouldn't have any idea what you're doing! As if some harlot knew how to use tools!"

I expect Cicero to reach for his dagger again, but instead I see his entire body relax, a look of resolve on his face, but he says and does nothing else. Seeing the fool so silent and still unnerves me, so I look back to Loreius instead. 

"Great! So then you won't help, Cicero stays here for the foreseeable future, and you know what? I think I will too. Give him some...company." A smile is plastered on my face, and I think Loreius is about to burst. Veins bulge from behind his red face, and his hands are balled into tight fists at his side. 

Finally, he lets out an exasperated groan. "Well, come on then. I'll show you where the tools are. Just you, not the madman." He turns and walks away.

I glance at the madman himself. Cicero stands exactly as he was when I last looked at him, but now an eerie smile adorns his face. "I...I'll be right back. Just stay right there, Cicero." No reaction. 

The sun is fully over the horizon now and casts a long shadow of my own body ahead of me as I follow Loreius towards his farm. Despite not having slept in the past twenty-four hours, I'm wide awake. My limbs ache from my activities yesterday, but powering through sore muscles is something I've grown accustomed to, which is handy because I still need to bring Farengar his stone when I return to Whiterun. 

I don't know what I expected to happen when I found the jester, but this definitely wasn't it. The kissing was nice, and so was finding out I wasn't really hearing voices I guess. Maybe. If I'm being honest, there are more doubts again. Cicero's reaction to Loreius was...unsettling. And carrying a weapon for protection is one thing, but an ebony dagger? Those were rare, expensive, and difficult to master. It's not the kind of weapon any normal person would have just for self-defense.

Although I suppose Cicero isn't a normal person. 

Loreius directs me to the tools I'll need and huffs off to his fields where his wife is watching us with a raised eyebrow. I can hear him angrily fill her in, but I tune it out, desperate to get back to Cicero and see how he's doing. 

* * *

"-And he says to the man, 'that's not a horker! That's my wife!'" Cicero bursts into a fit of giggles. "I love that one," he sighs.

"I smile as I lay down the tools and admire my handiwork. "Well, she's done," I announce.

Cicero begins to exclaim something in delight, but it trails off and the smile disappears from his face. "I...suppose that means you can leave now. And I can...continue on to Falkreath alone...." It's my turn to frown now. I stay silent, unsure of how to respond or what I was even feeling. "Unless...you want to come with me?" he asks hesitantly, twiddling his gloved fingers.

My eyes widen, and I realize just how much I wish I could. I wrap my arms around him and rest my head on his shoulder, breathing in the musty smell of his motley. "I want to, Cicero. But-"

"No. No 'but's allowed," he says, burying his face in the crook of my neck and tickling it with his breath. "Well, none except this one," he adds and gives my ass a gentle squeeze.

I've never felt so endeared to anyone as quickly as I have been to this madman in the course of one morning. Things that would repel others, like his dress and excessively high voice, felt natural to me. His jokes and silly rhymes cracked me up rather than annoyed me. Even the way he spoke in third person only increased my affection. 

"Maybe after you settle your mother in down there, you can come find me up in Solitude. My family had a pretty large home up there. Gods know how lonely it'll be with just me left."

Cicero falls silent for a whole minute, and I can't bring myself to speak before he answers. "I receive no rest from my duties adequate for such a venture," he finally chokes out through gritted teeth. There's that word again. Duties. What kind of duties could be so vital to a jester? I don't realize how tense he is until I feel his body loosen in my arms. "Not that...not that I mind. Humble Cicero lives to serve...." His voice doesn't match the confidence of his words. 

I hold the fool back at arms' length and study his face until I'm too frustrated to continue, and I step away with a scowl. "You know, for someone who talks as much as you do, I wish you would say what you were actually thinking for once."

"Cicero is thinking about how much he'd like to bend you over that boulder and have his way with you," he quips back immediately in a deadpan voice. I can't help but snort, and Cicero chuckles too before his serious expression returns. "I'm also thinking that I've never met a person that understands Cicero as well as sweet Rhiannon does. At least not anyone who speaks to me," he adds wistfully, gazing at the crate in his wagon. 

"How long has your mother been gone for?"

His eyes snap back to me. Have I crossed a line? "Why do you ask?"

I step back and raise my hands to ease him. "Just curious. Honestly...I was hoping it was recently, because I'd like to believe it will get easier for me with time. But if it's been a long time and you still miss her this much...." I trail off, unsure of how to express the heartbreak I feel. 

The jester says nothing but steps forward and envelopes me in his arms once again. We stay that way, still and silent, for several minutes before Cicero pipes up. "Do you want a new family?"

My body jerks away from him as an inexplicable feeling of dread washes over me. "What? What are you talking about?"

He goes back to fiddling with his hands, refusing to meet my eyes as he speaks. "You can come with me to Falkreath and join my family. Join our...brotherhood?" Cicero pauses to gauge my reaction, but I'm frozen in place. 

Brotherhood? No no no no no no....

Cicero steps forward quickly and takes both of my hands in his. "Come with lonely Cicero. Come with me and we can serve Mother together. Maybe she'll even speak to you! Maybe loyal Cicero can find her her Listener after all! After all the silence and all the years, after there was nothing left of him but laughter incarnate, I can still do this for her. For dear, sweet Night Mother!"

Through all of Cicero's rambling, he had pressed himself closer and closer to me until I was backed against the side of his wagon. His hands had moved from mine to the sides of my face, and for a moment, I think he may kiss me again. But he doesn't. He only stares at me with wide eyes and rests his forehead against mine, still not blinking. 

"You're part of the Dark Brotherhood," I finally whisper. I didn't know all of what he was talking about, but the comment of the Night Mother is unmistakable. 

Cicero's voice grows even more frantic at the statement. "Sweet Rhiannon, kind Rhiannon, gentle Rhiannon! My dear, my dear, it is not so dreadful here!" He drops to his knees, clinging to my legs in tears, but I'm still incapable of moving. "I know you think poor Cicero to be mad, I know it! I think he's mad too! But that's what the silence does! It's not lonely Cicero's fault, it's the damn _silence_! And you! You can end it for Cicero! Be a friend, a sister, or more! I don't want to be without you, no matter how mad that sounds, but I can't forsake my duties to Mother either!"

The madman violently shakes against my legs as he's racked with sobs, and after a moment passes, I do the only thing I can- I laugh. 

I laugh harder than I've ever laughed at anything in my life. I laugh so hard I nearly piss myself. I laugh at Cicero. I laugh at myself. I laugh at the _fucking_ Dark Brotherhood and the Night Mother. I laugh at voices in my head and at Bravil and at Cheydinhal. I laugh at Vantus Loreius and his fat bald head. I laugh at being in Skyrim again and at my dead family and at dragons and Jarls. 

Slowly, I become aware that Cicero's cries have shifted to laughter too, until he's rolling on the ground laughing so hard that he starts crying again. As the laughter dies out and the silence begins to rise, I kneel down next to the fool and place a hand on his cheek, smiling at him softly. "So you'll...you'll come with me?" The hope in his voice shatters what is left of my heart. 

My lips meet his gently, barely brushing against them. Neither of us move to deepen nor break the kiss for a long while. Not until I pull away, give him one last look that I hope says more than I could with words, and I climb onto Damien and ride to Whiterun. 


	4. Watch the Skies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhiannon kills a dragon. ‘Nough said.

“You see? The terminology is clearly First Era or even earlier. I’m convinced this...”

I tune out Farengar’s conversation with a hooded woman while I tap my foot and stare at the ceiling until he finally decides I’m worth his attention. “Ah yes, the Jarl’s protégé. Back from Bleak Falls Barrow? You didn’t die, it seems.” 

Normally, I would play nice, but I don’t even have the energy to force a polite smile. My arm simply extends to him, stone tablet in hand. The mage offers some friendly praise, but his words go in one ear and out the other.

It’s not until Irileth, Jarl Balgruuf’s housecarl, comes charging into the room that my consciousness snaps back into place. “Farengar! You need to come at once! A dragon’s been spotted nearby. She turns to me and adds, “You should come too.” Farengar raves on our way upstairs about how “exciting” a close dragon is. Irileth is not so enthused. 

The next couple hours pass by in a blur. A guard explains to us that he was at the Western Watchtower when a dragon began circling overhead. The Jarl sends me, Irileth, and the men she leads to the tower to investigate. 

Smoke billows around the watchtower as we approach, eyes hopping between the fire and the sky. The dragon rises from behind a nearby mountain range and flies towards us faster than I would have thought possible. Arrow after arrow pierces the tough scales until the dragon finally lands, causing the earth to tremble under our feet. 

I don’t know what I’m thinking. Actually, I’m not thinking. My mind is turned off entirely, leaving my untethered body to unleash all of my pent-up emotions on this giant lizard in front of me. All the anger, all the disappointment and denial, all the loneliness. And in my rage, I find in me the strength to hoist myself onto the dragon’s head, gripping onto it as it attempts to fling me off, and plunge my sword deep into its skull. 

My feet slam onto the ground as I hop off of the dragon. It isn’t quite expired yet when it shouts, “Dovahkiin? NO!” and collapses in a scaly heap. 

The world stands still for a moment before a powerful rush of air and light flows into my body from the dead dragon and fills me down to my bones with an exhilarating energy. Gulping down air and covered in my own blood and that of the dragon, I turn back to see if any of my companions saw and felt what I did, but all they do is stare at me with wide eyes and gaping mouths. 

One guard finally steps forward. “I can’t believe it. You’re...Dragonborn.”

Dragonborn. Now that’s a word I haven’t heard in years. My father used to tell me stories of the Dragonborn prancing around Skyrim and slaying dragons. He said they would steal the souls of the dragons they killed. Is that really what I did? 

”Dragonborn? What’s that?” another guard asks. 

The first guard explains, and I listen while I gather up scales and bones that litter the ground from after the creature burst into flames as it died. Dragonborn or not, these things have got to be worth a fortune. Irileth, who’s a Dunmer, expresses doubt in the tales, but the guards blame her skepticism on lack of Nord heritage. 

And through all of this, I stay silent. 

”If you really are Dragonborn, like the old tales, you ought to be able to Shout. Can you? Have you tried?”

I look at all of their expectant faces and shrug. What have I got to lose? Facing the crisped skeletal dragon, I open my mouth, unsure of what I should even shout until a recent memory stirs, and I release a loud “FUS”, sending the remains flying backwards. 

The guards cheer, and the full gravity of what’s happening finally hits me. “That was Shouting, what you just did! Must be. You really are Dragonborn then.” 

Even Irileth is wearing an impressed smirk as she yells over the men’s racket to me. “Well go on, then. You better tell Jarl Balgruuf the dragon’s been dealt with. We’ll take care of the fires and injured men here.”

Sudden darkness temporarily blinds me as I enter Dragonsreach from outside where the sun hangs low in the sky. The heavy doors slam behind me just as a fierce rumbling shakes the very air. 

“DOVAHKIIN.”

Everyone’s eyes were on either the ceiling, the door, or a window as they remained frozen in place for several seconds after the noise ends. When they resume their activities, I pick up bits and pieces of conversation on my way up the stairs to the Jarl’s throne. 

”Dovahkiin? As in Dragonborn?”

”-That girl. The mercenary that Balgruuf’s been obsessing over. Maybe she knows....” 

“Who would yell that loud? What a disrespectful interruption.”

”Good, you’re finally here. The Jarl’s been waiting for you.”

”So what happened at the watchtower? Was the dragon there?” These words, the words of the Jarl, are the only ones I respond to. 

”The watchtower was destroyed, but we killed the dragon.”

”I knew I could count on Irileth! But there must be more to it than that.”

I hesitate. “When the dragon died...I absorbed some sort of power from it.”

Realization dawns on his face. “So it’s true then. The Greybeards really were summoning you!”

The name seems vaguely familiar, but I can’t remember exactly who they are. “The Greybeards?”

Jarl Balgruuf explains that the Greybeards are masters of the dragon language that live on Skyrim’s tallest mountain, the Throat of the World, and never really come down. According to him and his brother, Hrongar, the deafening call when I came in must have been them summoning the Dragonborn to their home, High Hrothgar. 

”I envy you, you know,” the Jarl says. “To climb the Seven Thousand Steps again.... I made the pilgrimage once, did you know that? High Hrothgar is a peaceful place. Very...disconnected from the troubles of this world. No matter. Go to High Hrothgar. Learn what the Greybeards can teach you. 

”You’ve done a great service for me and my city, Dragonborn. By my right as Jarl, I name you Thane of Whiterun. It’s the greatest honor that’s within my power to grant. I assign you Lydia as a personal housecarl and this weapon from my armor to serve as your badge of office. I’ll also notify my guards of your new title. Wouldn’t want then to think you’re part of the common rabble, now would we? We are honored to have you as Thane of our city, Dragonborn.”

The Jarl’s steward, Proventus Avenicci, steps forward and hands me a Nordic greatsword emitting the energy of an enchantment. ”It’s called Thu’um Fahdon. Take care of her. Your housecarl, Lydia, is waiting for you by the door,” he says with a gesture towards her. “Take care of her, too.” He gives me a formal nod and returns to the Jarl’s side. 

The eyes of everyone in the hall follow me as I head down the stairs. I can see them from my peripheral vision, but when I look to catch them, they quickly look away. 

A Thane and the Dragonborn in one day. Not even a full day, just the second half. As if the madness of the morning wasn’t enough. 

By the nine, I don’t even want to think about this morning and what it all means. I’m just going to pretend none of it happened, and that goes for Bravil, too. 

I slow as I approach Lydia, a tall Nord woman with dark hair and big...eyes. She steps forward and gives me a small bow. “The Jarl has appointed me to be your housecarl. It’s an honor to serve you.”

”Neat. On to our first order of business then- getting obscenely drunk.”

Lydia is hesitant to have more than one pint of mead, but I can be very persuasive. 

”Do you only drink moderately for religious reasons?”

”Oh, no, nothing like that.”

”Are you a recovering drunkard?”

”What? No!”

”So you’re _really_ only abstaining so you can perform your best in case of an emergency?”

”Of course! It is my sworn duty to protect you and be available for whatever you may need of me.”

”I see. You know, I actually am in need of something right now.”

My housecarl straightens in her seat. “Of course, my Thane, what can I do for you?”

I chug down my drink and nudge the refill I got her in her direction. “I am in _desperate_ need of a drinking buddy. I’ve had a very long, hard day, and as your Thane, I order you to relax and have fun in a drunken stupor with me.” 

Lydia snorts. “As you command, my Thane.”

Several drinks later, we laugh hysterically at our table in The Bannered Mare. We pass the night exchanging stories of battles and adventures, victories and losses, until I’m on the verge of passing out, which doesn’t take too long considering I didn’t sleep at all the night before. I announce that I’m going to bed, and Lydia begins to follow. 

”You can stay down here as long as you’d like, you don’t have to go to bed just because I am.”

Lydia sways slightly on her feet. “No,” she insists, “I should go now anyways before I make a fool of myself.”

I involuntarily wince at the word ‘fool’, too drunk to block the memory of this morning or to hide my poor reaction. Lydia grabs my arms gently but with urgency. “What is it? Are you hurt?” Her words come out so quick and slurred that my inebriated brain struggles to pick the individual words apart. 

”Wha-? Oh, yeah, I’m fine, I’m great, never better. Goodnight!” I attempt to skip to the stairs to our room, but instead, I trip over my own foot and face plant into the ground. Lydia rushes over to help me up, and the patrons that are left stare at the display, some in amusement and some in concern. 

Without a word, Lydia lends me her arm and guides me upstairs and to the bed, helping me out of my armor before she takes off her own and settles into an armchair. I giggle into my pillow. “Don’t be ridiculous. This is a double bed, there’s more than enough room for both of us.”

”Are you sure, my Thane? I really don’t mind?”

”Oh hush and get over here.”

She follows my instructions and crawls under the covers with me. 

”Tomorrow we go home to Solitude, and you can have any bed of your choice,” I tell her, trying to picture what my childhood home would even look like empty. Between my brothers and sisters and our servants, the building was filled with a constant buzz of activity. But I’m the last survivor of the family, and I had written ahead after receiving the letter of inheritance to tell all the servants they were dismissed. I never cared for having servants in the first place, and if I had to go back home, I wanted to start fresh. I don’t need all these people that waited on my family giving me their condolences or pity. 

Lydia simply moans in response and begins snoring lightly. A sigh escapes my lips, and I sloppily shift my body, unable to get comfortable. Looks like another restless night. 


	5. From Past to Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhiannon puts off her visit to the Greybeards with a trip to Riften, where she hears an intriguing rumor.

I see my feet hit the ground when I dismount my horse. I hear the key click in the lock. I smell the pervasive stench of stagnant air. But I don’t _feel_ any of it. I’m nothing more than an observer of my own life. 

It’s exactly as I remember it, only without the sound of all its inhabitants going about their lives. The great Silian Manor. Silent, empty, in the early stages of gathering dust and cobwebs, but still sturdy and luxurious. I drift from room to room, gliding my fingers over red velvet linens and mahogany shelves. My housecarl follows closely behind but without interrupting. The only rooms I make a point to avoid are the two upstairs- the master bedroom and the room I shared with my four siblings. 

My two brothers and two sisters all passed away long before my parents. My oldest brother and sister, Pwyll and Aderyn, both became Solitude guards as soon as they were old enough and were killed in the same bandit raid. The next oldest, a boy named Terryn, died after a long and painful bout of Bone Break Fever. I was seven; he was ten. My youngest sister was kidnapped and killed after I had run away to Cyrodiil. They found her corpse, burnt beyond recognition but with her identifiable locket beside it, in a cave along with the abandoned camping gear of whoever had taken her. Last I heard, they thought it was a rogue mage. My parents had written to me when it happened, around five years ago. It was the only time I ever wrote back. All I wrote were the words ‘I’m so sorry’ along with my signature. 

Now I stand in the armory in our basement with wet cheeks as I try to shove down the same feelings of shame and guilt that I felt then. 

”Alright,” I say with a clap, turning to face Lydia. “Let’s get started with cleaning. I’ll start down here. I wanna get an inventory going so we know what supplies we have and if we need anything. Do you mind working on the top floor?” 

”Not at all, my Thane. Whatever you wish.” She gives a small bow and heads up the stairs. 

A couple of hours later, Lydia and I have caught up to each other in the downstairs crafting area. Together we record what crafting materials we have and work to get the forge started up. 

The building may still have a lack of occupants, but it looks like home again. 

”We just got here yesterday. Surely you should get some more rest before heading off on another adventure?"

"What I would really like, more than anything, it to spend as _little_ time in that house as possible," I tell Lydia firmly, tying closed the sack on Damien's side.

Lydia rolls her eyes. "Well then don't you think you should, I don't know...go see the Greybeards?"

I groan and bury my face in Damien's black mane. "It's great you feel comfortable enough to speak you mind to your Thane, but you really don't _have_ to all the time."

"It's great that you're in touch with your inner-child, but that doesn't mean you have to act like one all the time."

I hear her mount her horse, and I look up at her stern but caring face. "But you make such a great mother, it just seems fitting."

She smirks, but it quickly drops back into a soft frown. I hate when she looks disappointed in me. "You're the Dragonborn. I know it must feel so unfair, but your life is about more than just yourself now. Especially now that dragons have returned."

I climb onto Damien and stare at the Eastern horizon, not caring that I'm blinding myself with the rising sun. "One more trip. One more as just myself. We'll go to Riften, drink as much of the famous Black-Briar Mead as we can, laugh at the indiscreet criminals and incompetent guards. Then we go to High Hrothgar."

Lydia nods and follows me out of the stables. 

We arrive in the late afternoon of the next day. Riften is pretty much how I imagined it would be. A guard at the gate tries to extort money from me to enter the city but doesn't have the balls to stick to the scam when I call him on it. Once in, some vigilante woman talks to her beta male companion about trying to take down the Thieves Guild. And a few steps past them, a thuggish-looking brute leans against a pillar. 

"I don't know you," he says to Lydia and I as we near him. "You in town looking for trouble?"

"Not looking, but I do have quite a knack for finding it anyways. What's it to you?"

The man's back visibly stiffens. "Careful, now. The name's Maul. I watch the streets for the Black-Briars. And the last thing they need is some loudmouth meddling in their affairs."

I try my best to hold back a snort. "Maul? Did your mother name you that, or did you come up with it all on your own?"

Lydia looks at me out of the corner of her eye, brows stitched together in worry, but Maul lets out a bark of a laugh. "You're lucky you met me before my brother Dirge. Laugh at his name, and he'll rip your throat right out.

"Look, lass. I like the nerve you've got. But really, if you're going to cause trouble-"

"I won't be a problem, you have my word. At least not during this visit," I say with a wink.

Maul nods, and I begin to walk past him but stop in my tracks. "So...if you watch the streets, you must be pretty well-informed."

"Sure am. You need dirt, I'm your man. But it'll cost ya."

"Hm well instead of money, what do you say to an exchange?"

"Now you're speaking my language," he says, grinning ear to ear. "What've you got?" 

I step forward so that I'm inches away from him. His body tenses up but doesn't pull away, so I lean in closer until my lips are brushing his ear. "I'm the Dragonborn."

Maul pulls away and stares at me with wide eyes before they narrow, and he smirks in disbelief. " Horse shit. How dumb do you think I am?"

Without a word, I turn to face the empty alley next to us and let out a thundering _FUS_ _!_

Window panes and doors rattle in their frames as a powerful force blasts through the air. Heads poke out of homes to try to figure out what happened. A guard even approaches from around a corner with his weapon drawn to ask us if we saw what happened. 

"No idea! I think the sound came from that way," I say, pointing him down to the road at the end of the alley. "See, what did I tell you? Incompetent," I mutter to Lydia as she stifles a laugh.

Maul is frozen with shock. "Uh, yeah, okay, that works for me. What is it you wanna know?"

I laugh at his reaction and shrug. "Anything worth knowing or watching out for?"

His dirty nails scratch at the stubble on his chin as he thinks it over. "Hm...this may not be as 'scary' of a rumor as it might have been a decade or two ago, but some people still like to know. Word's goin' around this orphan boy, Aventus Aretino, ran away from Honorhall and is trying to contact the Dark Brotherhood from his old place in Windhelm."

My breath hitches in my throat. What if _he_ came?

Over the last few days, I've made it a point to drown out any thought that attempted to highlight my encounter with a certain jester. But in spite of my efforts, I feel a pull in the center of my chest as if a string was tied around my soul and someone is tugging on the other end. And I know who that other end leads to, even if I refuse to admit it to myself. I wasn't angry when I lost my family. I'm not angry about being Dragonborn. The only unexpected twist in my life that has made me irrationally and uncontrollably _livid_ has been this fool coming in out of nowhere, sinking his claws into me over the course of a few hours, and then vanishing. 

Only he's not the one who vanished. I was. And maybe this was my chance to fix it.

I spin on my heels and head straight for the gate I only just came in through. "Hey! Where're you going?" I stop and turn back to see Maul, back finally detached from the pillar.

"Windhelm."

Maul raises an eyebrow. " _Why?_ "

I open my mouth but struggle to think of a reasonable answer. "Curious," I finally say.

Another harsh laugh comes from Maul's lips as he shakes his head incredulously. "Well, next time you're in town, come find me and I'll buy you a drink."

"I'd like that," I say with a smile. 

Lydia and I are almost at the gate when Maul calls out again. "Hey, dragon girl!" I turn back expectantly. "What's your name?"

A smile plays on my lips again. "Rhiannon!"

My leg swings over Damien, and I look down at Lydia, who's glaring at me with crossed arms, feet planted firmly on the ground. "What in Oblivion are we doing?"

A laugh bubbles up from my throat, but it's...wrong. It's not rhythmic the way laughs usually are, and it's far brassier than my normal one. But I can't help it! It's not my fault she asked such a silly question!

Lydia's glare morphs into a look of utter confusion. "S-sor...sorry!" I choke out between bouts of chaotic giggles. After a few minutes, I manage to calm myself down, and I sigh and wipe away the tear tracks on my face as the laughter subsides. "Sorry," I say again to a bored Lydia.

"You done?" She examines her nails from atop her horse, not even glancing at me. 

"I'm sorry," I repeat without laughter this time, but the shit-eating grin remains plastered on my face. "You know, a week ago, I didn't believe in destiny or fate. I still didn't when my parents died and I decided to return to Skyrim. When I was captured and almost executed with Ulfric Stormcloak, I thought that that was just my luck. When a dragon attacked just in time to stop my head from being cut off, I became suspicious. And when I found out I was the Dragonborn, I knew in my bones that fate played a hand in it all. I didn't want to be just the Dragonborn though. There's more to me than that, and I was scared that that was all my life could ever be. But Maul just confirmed to me that it's not. My fate extends far beyond that, but it's up to me to put it in motion. And the first step is to find Cicero."

"And Cicero is...?"

"I'm so glad you asked! Let's start riding, and I'll explain on the way."

I told Lydia everything. I told her about Bravil, Cheydinhal, the Loreius farm. I also told her about the note and sack of gold I found on our bedside table in The Bannered Mare before she woke up the morning after I had met Cicero. 

'Sweetest Rhiannon- This Fool of Hearts is lost and confused, and I believe you may be the cause of it. Why did you leave? Why do I feel lonelier than before? Why is the laughter more quiet? Did you steal some of it? It was a gift from Mother, and I would very much like it back please.

'I've left you a gift for your help. Shiny, gleamy coin, as promised.

'You look so peaceful when you sleep. -Cicero'

Below the writing were several doodles of smiley faces and hearts with daggers sticking out of them. 

All the color drains from Lydia's face when she sees the note. "This was in our room the morning after we met? So I was already with you?"

"Yeah, why?"

Her hand clenches the note and crumples it, and I reflexively flinch. "'Why?' I'm supposed to protect you! It was my very first day, and I already failed! An _assassin_ got into the room undetected!"

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, he snuck in, left some money and a note, then got out. Hardly anything to be worried about, especially after the fact."

"And if that wasn't his plan? I'd be a failure and you'd be dead."

My mouth opens to speak, but I quickly close it and bring Damien to a stop, holding out my arm to signal for Lydia to stop too. I could have sworn I saw something move past a bush on the side of the road, and the bush swayed like something had too. Hopping off of Damien, I draw my two new daggers with a smile. _Please_ be something other than a wold or bear for me to christen these babies with. 

The world stands still for a minute, and I'm about to brush it off as my imagination, when my eyes catch a distorted shimmer around a nearby tree. Someone was invisible.

The moment my eyes lock onto it, a shrouded figure materializes in its place and charges at me. With my (much larger) daggers already out, I easily block his attack with a simple steel dagger, and I slash at his arm with my second blade for good measure as I step to the side. The attacker hisses in pain and spins around to come at me again. Lydia joins now and bashes him in the head with the flat of her sword, causing him to stagger and buckle over. I grab a fistful of his hair to hold him in place and send my knee into his face with full force before I yank him back up and shove one of my blades deep into his neck.

Lydia and I watch as the man sputters out and chokes on his own blood, desperately groping at the wound in his neck. "Well, let's see if we can find out who this prick is, shall we?" I rummage through his pockets without acknowledging his weak attempts at swatting me away. As he expires, I pull out some gold and a note. How convenient.

'As instructed, you are to eliminate Rhiannon by any means necessary- Loreius wants this poor fool dead. We've already received payment for the contract. Failure is not an option. -Astrid'

Lydia reads from over my shoulder and laughs. "What was that you were saying about nobody wanting to assassinate you?"

"Loreius was the one that ordered the contract. He's the guy that refused to help Cicero. It's pure coincidence. I wouldn't even be surprised if he ordered one on Cicero too."

Either way, we have to be careful. If they say failure isn't an option, they'll be sure to send another once they realize this poor sod is dead."

I nod and hop back onto Damien. The rest of our journey to Windhelm is in silence.

"What is even the plan here?"

"Find the Aretino kid's home and stake it out to see if Cicero comes. Simple."

"It's past midnight. Shouldn't we get some rest and start tomorrow? How are we even going to find him right now? It's not like there are any people around to ask."

Peering around her, I can easily see three people a little ways off. Two male Nords and a Dunmer woman. They seemed to be arguing. When I inch closer, not ignoring Lydia, I can hear the men accuse the elf of being a Thalmor spy. 

Laughing my ass off, I walk forward and plant myself firmly in between the two parties. "The Thalmor are High Elves, dumbass. Not Dark Elves. Leave her alone and go find a pit to pass out in."

The drunk Nord doing most of the talking argued some, and long story short, he left with a broken nose and the promise to leave the elves alone unless he wanted taste my knife instead of my fist. But better yet, the woman gave me directions to the Aretino house afterwards.

Lydia and I make our way to the home, still bickering. "An assassin would be way more likely to come at night, and I don't want to miss him. End of discussion," I say as we approach what is hopefully the right building. "If you want, you can go stay at the inn. I really don't mind."

"If you insist on hunting down some lunatic murderer, I'm staying by your side through it all. Just don't expect me to do it without complaining."

We sit behind some bushes lining a wall, and as we settle down, a voice becomes just audible from inside in the dead of night. "Sweet Mother, sweet Mother, send your child until me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear." The voice sounds so young, and ever word is steeped in desperation and heart break.

I stand and step towards the voice. "What are you doing?" Lydia whispers. I ignore her and press my ear against the front door.

The child inside groans. "How long do I have to keep doing this?" When I hear him start to cry, my resolve hardens, and I scramble to dig my lockpicks out of my pockets. "So tired...," I hear much more loudly as I slowly slide the door open. 

I slowly crest the top of the stairs inside the house. "Hello?"

The family heirloom Aventus gave me, a silver platter, is perched on a dresser in my room at Silian Manor. On the few nights that I spend at home, my eyes fixate on it until I'm able to drift to sleep. Aventus insisted I take it as "payment", despite my protests, but I couldn't sell it like he intended me to. Instead, I keep it, so that I can remember that cruel old woman that runs the orphanage and that, sometimes, murder is justified.

I didn't find Cicero, but when Aventus told me how that horrible hag treated the children at the orphanage, I knew I couldn't wait for the Brotherhood to take care of this. The sooner the bitch died, the better.

The day finally comes where Lydia has harassed me enough that I decide to go to the Greybeards. Enough time has gone by without doing duty as Dragonborn.

Lydia and I pack what we need and head out the door just as a courier approaches. "Hey there! Got a delivery for your hands only. Let's see...," he mumbles as he digs through his pouch full of mail. I exchange an impatient glance with Lydia. "Yeah, got this note."

I thank him as he hands it to me, and he begins to leave. A large black handprint fills most of the page when I unfold it, and below it sits only two words- "We know."

"Uh, excuse me," I call after the courier as he passes through the gate outside my house, and I jog lightly to catch up. "Who sent this?"

"Don't know. Creepy fella in a black robe. Paid me a pretty sum to get that in your hands though."

I frown, thank him again, and gesture to Lydia to head out. "What was it?"

"Nothing. Just Thane stuff."

"You may be a good liar, but I know you too well to fall for it. You did something dumb again, didn't you?"

"Hey!" I playfully smack her arm. "I don't know what it is. Honestly. But I've been doing my absolute best to avoid dumb things. Promise."

We ride to Whiterun and stop there for the night. It's become tradition for us to always indulge in extra alcohol every time we stay at The Bannered Mare like we did our first night together, and the mysterious note is soon lost from our thoughts. Once we've had our fill of drink and fun, our warm bed calls to us. 


	6. Into Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhiannon gets a new family and reunites with a certain madman...and also picks up a new travelling buddy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't judge me for my cheesy and lame mod choices.

My head pulses with my heartbeat and fills my skull with intense pressure. Fuzziness clouds my vision. It takes me a minute to realize I am not home and another minute to realize I'm not in The Bannered Mare. I throw my arms out to search for Lydia, but I find only worn-down wooden flooring. 

"Sleep well?" At the sound of an unfamiliar female voice, I leap to my feet and draw my daggers, ignoring my pounding head. A hooded woman lounges on top of a dresser in this decrepit room littered with old furniture and blood stains."Good instinct. Those are the kind of reflexes that keep you alive.

"Are those what you used to kill Grelod?" I say nothing, but my eyes widen in shock that she knows about that. "Khajiit got your tongue? Well, what about my brother? Did you use those on him too?" I'm still too thrown off to speak, but it finally hits me that she's wearing the same black and red armor as the assassin on the way to Windhelm. The woman waits for an answer but receives only my glare. "Oh, I'm not criticizing. They were both good kills. There's just one tiny problem. Not only did you cost us a brother, but you also stole our kill. But the good news is that all will be forgiven. All you have to do to get the key out of here and go on your way is to repay the kill you stole from us. Simple as can be."

Wait what? "You want me to kill someone else? And then you'll let me go? What about the contract on me?"

"Forgotten. Although I will admit, if it wasn't for what happened with the old crone at the orphanage, we would treat it like any other contract and try again. But you have my word that won't be the case now.

"If you'll turn around, you'll see three...guests. One of them has a contract on them. It's up to you to figure out which it is and make the kill. Freedom is but a discreet knife thrust away." I turn and see the people as she said, all bound and with bags covering their faces.

Fuck this. Without a word or even a step, I sheathe my knives and draw my bow. All three victims lie dead with an arrow in each of their hearts within moments.

"Well, well. Aren't we the overachiever?" The woman tosses me a key. "You're free to go. But I'd like to extend to you a formal invitation to repay us for the brother you killed as well. Join us. You already kill well and often. May as well get paid for it."

She tells me where their sanctuary is, and in a daze, I exit through the door and find myself blinded by sunlight.

The shack I was brought to is in the marsh of Haafingar, not far from Solitude, so it doesn't take long for me to find my way home, and a hysterical Lydia shows up not long after. She's angry and scared and ashamed, and as much as I value her care for me, I can't bring myself to pay it much heed. I'm far too busy preparing for the journey to Falkreath. 

Lydia stays at home to take care of things while I'm away, and I arrive in Falkreath late at night. I ride slowly down the road south of the small town until I spot a nearly invisible clearing. Just around the corner of the clearing lies the Black Door. I give the password and enter slowly. The woman, named Astrid, welcomes me and introduces me to our other brothers and sisters. No Cicero.

Ignoring the disappointment is hard but manageable. Disregarding the stabbing pain of my fool not being here, I receive my first contracts from a Redguard named Nazir.

"Best get some rest upstairs before getting started," he tells me. "I imagine it's been a long day for you. Plus the Night Mother will be arriving soon, and things are bound to get even more interesting around here."

There it is. He's on his way. I'm finally able to collapse into a bed and drift off, content with knowing that becoming a paid killer was worth it.

I arrive in Ivarstead and easily dispatch of the beggar assigned to me. Killing someone so harmless does spark in me a slight feeling of guilt, but if I'm being honest, it wasn't enough to bother me. 

The tallest mountain in Tamriel looms far above the tiny village. I groan and, after a moment of hesitation, steer Damien towards the path to High Hrothgar. It isn't too treacherous of a path, other than a frost troll that admittedly beats me up pretty badly before I manage to gut it. Jarl Balgruff was right about how disconnected and peaceful High Hrothgar is, though. My footsteps echo off of the facets of stone on the side of the mountain as I approach the home of the Greybeards. 

Well, they gave me a couple of shouts and said they exist to "guide" me, so that's neat, but other than that? Pretty lame, not gonna lie.

I wrap up my last two side contracts with ease and decide to head home and check on Lydia before returning to the sanctuary. She's glad I went to the Greybeards finally, but now she pesters me about retrieving some horn they told me to get. Other than that, spending the night Lydia again is nice since this is the longest we've gone without each other since meeting. My whole life since leaving Skyrim has been notably devoid of many friends. There were a couple of people that I was rather close to, and I had plenty of friendly acquaintances, but I spent a great deal of time alone as well. I haven't even seen the best friend I've ever had in about four years. Lydia's changed that. 

But in the morning, I leave.

There's no one in the entrance room when I arrive at the sanctuary, and as I venture further in, I hear a voice that stops me dead in my tracks.

_He's here._

My foot slips as I rush down the stairs, but I catch myself before I can completely fall over. His figure slowly comes into view until even the very tip of his jester hat is visible. He doesn't notice me yet. His narrowed eyes are fixated on Astrid as he rants about the Night Mother's importance. Astrid has a venomously fake smile plastered on her face that reeks of resentment, and she assures the fool that he and the Night Mother are welcome and will be respected but that she is the leader of the sanctuary. 

The conversation comes to a close, and he and Astrid both turn to me when I approach. Astrid nabs me first. Inhaling deeply, I half listen to her while she gives me the details of my next contract, but my eyes steal glances past her to the man I've been waiting for. He hasn't moved an inch since locking his eyes on me. 

And then the moment arrives. Astrid walks away, and I close the distance between me and the fool. "Cicero."

In our time apart, I had forgotten how hard to read Cicero could be. He continues to stare at me in silence, and I think he may be angry with me, until finally he breaks into a grin and claps with glee. "Oh, Rhiannon! You came!" He throws his arms around me, and heat rises to my cheeks as I notice that everyone remaining in the room is watching us with curiosity. Cicero pulls away and grabs my hand, dragging me into another room. 

A smile is on my own face, too. I missed this man, and it feels like we were apart after knowing each other much longer than a few hours. We both start giggling as he leads me into a bedroom with a new sign at the entrance saying 'Keeper'. 

I've never been in this room, and I get distracted by looking around when I'm suddenly spun and shoved against the wall. Cicero's lips come crashing down on mine before I have time to react. For as gentle and slow-burning as our first kiss was, this one is its equal in desperation and hunger, and it's not lost on me that Cicero is pinning me to the wall as if to prevent me from leaving again. Not that I would.

Cicero's mouth departs from mine and begins biting and kissing its way up my jawline and to my ear. I reach up, intent on grabbing his hair, but he snatches up both of my wrists in one of his hands and holds them above my head. He chuckles as I let out a moan. I've heard many different laughs from the jester, but never one like this. This one is dark and cold and so very, very spine-tingling. 

With his free hand, he traces the curves of my body until he reaches my shoulder and it leaps up to grab a fistful of my hair. In a flash, he yanks me away from the wall and throws me onto the bed, climbing on top of me and straddling my hips before I mentally recover from the surprise.

"Why did you leave poor Cicero if you were going to come here anyways?" he half-growls and half-moans into my ear as he bends over me, mouth hovering just over my earlobe. One hand has resumed its capture of both of mine, and the other is squeezing my breast with strength I didn't know the fool had. If anyone else had handled me this way without express permission, they'd be on the ground with a broken nose by now. But as Cicero does it, all I can do is let out a cry and feel the wetness pool between my legs.

"It's a long story," I answer breathlessly. Big mistake.

Cicero freezes for a moment before hopping off of me and sitting cross-legged on the bed. I should have known better than to say something that could distract him.

Groaning at my own foolishness and dissatisfaction, I join him in sitting upright. He smiles at me and patiently waits for the promised story. As I finish the tale of what happened in Bravil, his brow furrows. "You...you heard a voice? In the Night Mother's crypt? Telling you to find me?"

I bite my lip, and his eyes follow the movement and linger on my mouth before he shakes his head and looks back to my eyes. "I don't know if it was a real voice or a hallucination. But that fact that I found you and you _were_ part of the Dark Brotherhood was too big of a coincidence. That's why I left. I needed time to process what happened and what it all meant."

"And the voice. It didn't say...anything other than what you told me?"

I quirk my head at the odd question. "Like what?"

His eyes widen, and he shakes his head. "Oh, nothing. Or everything. Or anything! Who knows?" His rare moment of lucidity ends, and the Fool of Hearts returns to his usual self. "I must tend to Mother now. Foolish Cicero should not have gotten distracted from his duties."

Cicero skips out of the room while humming, and I'm left alone and...frustrated.

Markarth is...interesting. Oh, who am I kidding? The place is a wreck. The Dwemer architecture is stunning, the weather's nice, but everything else about the city desperately needs to get its shit together. As soon as I walk in, a man kills a woman in the streets while shouting about the Forsworn. A few steps more, and I'm stopped by a man who "discreetly" hands me a note asking me to meet him at the local Shrine of Talos- a suspicious place to meet considering Markarth is held by the Thalmor. A few _more_ steps, and a Vigilant of Stendarr is interrogating a local about some abandoned house.

The only refuge from the city's oddities was my own room in the inn. Muiri, the girl who ordered the contract, is conveniently in the inn when I arrive to rent a room for the nigh, So I'm already filled in and ready to get out of this shithole in the morning. The contract itself is for an ex-lover, a bandit named Alain Dufont, but she offered me a bonus if I also kill a girl by the name of Nilsine Shatter-Shield in Windhelm.

I think I'll take the southern road around the Throat of the World to get there. The bitter cold of Skyrim had slipped my mind over the last decade of being gone, and an extra day of travel seems like a fair trade to avoid the frozen wasteland of the north for as long as possible. 

"Oy oy! Look at this fine lass here! I think I'll offer to buy her some brew...."

"Not if I get to her first!"

Ignoring drunk men has become a learned skill I possess. These two oafs outside of the Sleeping Giant Inn in Riverwod are no exception. The moment I realize they're talking about me, their calls fall on deaf ears, although I can't hold back my smirk when I hear one ask if I want to "lip wrestle". 

I climb the steps to the inn, but another man stands with his broad shoulder partially blocking the door. He studies me with narrowed amber eyes, head cocked to the side. I pointedly look between him and the door and clear my throat, impatience with the entire male species rising. 

"So I take it you're someone who doesn't lip wrestle? Or you’re looking for someone to kiss your boots. If it’s the latter, I suggest looking elsewhere.” 

My eyes roll to the back of my skull. “Or I’m looking for a drink and a warm bed, and you’re in my way.” 

”Ah, I see. But I have a question first. Are you really so used to those kinds of comments that you can just turn up your nose and ignore them?” 

”I’m sorry, princess, did you want some attention too?”

The man’s gruff facade cracks as a genuine grin of amusement breaks through. “Wha- princess? Those guys only wish they had the courage to whistle at me! Look, they’ve been harassing every pair of legs to pass them for days now. Yesterday they got so drunk they even wolf-whistled the blacksmith. Granted, you’re the first they’ve been right to admire...but still, best give them a wide berth.”

Heat rises to my cheeks at the compliment, and I hope the late evening is dark enough that he can’t tell. “Maybe _you_ should give _me_ a wide berth and let me in,” I counter with a smirk. 

The man’s grin widens. “Maybe I will. Or maybe I’ll join you.”

”Maybe I’d like that.”

”Good.”

”Fine.”

”Fine.”

”Good.”

His name is Bishop. He’s a ranger that’s been traveling through Skyrim with his wolf, Karnwyr. “Is Karnwyr invisible or...?” I ask with a laugh. 

Bishop sighs, and his eyes grow dark. “No. We got separated while hunting about a week ago. I’ve heard rumors of a pit fighting ring run by bandits somewhere this side of Skyrim, so I’m here trying to track it down. I actually just found out today it’s in Cragslane Cavern, a bit north of Riften. I was going to head out tomorrow morning.”

”I’m headed more or less in that direction. Need any help?”

Bishop’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “You’re offering to help a stranger? You’re not gonna try to charge me, are you?”

”No. Believe it or not, I’ve got this thing called dignity that stops me from tricking people into hiring me. He just seems really important to you, and if you need help, then I’m happy to volunteer.”

A series of emotions cross Bishop’s face before he shrugs. “Fine by me. There’s bound to be lot of bandits there if they’re running a ring. And he _is_ important to me. Arguably the _only_ important thing to me. He’s been with me since I was seventeen and he was just a cub. He’s all I’ve got. The only two things I trust in this world are myself and my wolf. You got that, princess?”

I lightly slam my hand on the bar in objection. “Hey! I called you princess first, you can’t just flip it around!”

”That’s where you wrong, ladyship,” he says, stretching out his arms and back. “It’s mine now, I claim it.”

We spend the night drinking, talking, and lightly flirting. Every so often, the thought of Cicero pops up, and I expel it as quickly as I can. Cicero and I have a...thing. I don’t know exactly what that thing is, but whatever it is, it’s not a relationship. In fact, the more I think about it, the harder it is to put into words what my feelings towards him are. There’s a strange energy between us, and it certainly isn’t romantic, or even sexual for that matter. It’s like it only manifests in those ways because those are the best outlets it has. 

Bishop seems to catch when my mind drifts. His speech slows down as if to see if I was really listening, and that’s enough to snap me back to attention. This happens several times before he stops his story mid-sentence. 

I smile sheepishly. “I’m sorry, I’m just so tired. I’ve been traveling all-“

”Don’t worry about it. I know picturing me naked can be very distracting,” he says, smirking, but I swear I catch a flicker of disappointment in his eyes. 

”Oh darn, you caught me. I’m gonna hit the hay. If you’re up and ready before me, feel free to bang some pots and pans in my ear.”

”Don’t tempt me, princess!” he calls as I head to my rented room, and I flip him off in response. His laughter fills my ears as the door shuts behind me. 

“Rise and shine, princess!”

I bolt upright in bed and instinctively grab my pillow and raise it like a sword. ”Oh no, victory is yours! I submit!” Bishop says, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Time to get a move on, ladyship. The sooner Karnwyr’s with us and safe, the sooner I’ll stop being such a grouch.”

”Really?”

”Eh.”


	7. Out of the Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bishop and Rhiannon get to know each other as the travel and complete a few quests together. When they return to the sanctuary, they make a tOtaLlY ShOCkInG discovery. 
> 
> (Yeah, she’s the Listener, shocking)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I would like to clarify something as I introduce Bishop as a pretty major character. I have mixed feelings on Bishop’s character arch in the game. He’s hot as fuck. Fact. He’s also possessive and controlling. Fact. I think he does have SOME positive development throughout the mod’s questline, but growth in very important (in my opinion) traits is lacking to say the least. So uh I’m fixing that lol.

“Fifty septims say I can take him out in one shot.”

”You’re on, princess.”

Cool air floods my lungs as I inhale and line up the shot. When I exhale and release, my arrow sails through the air and impales the bandit right in the eye. I bow without turning back to Bishop, fully aware of the view I’m giving him. 

”Pfft whatever,” he grumbles while counting out the septims from his coin purse. 

We approach the mouth of Cragslane Cavern from along the wall, and I slowly poke my head in. Another bandit is standing watch at the end of the passage. “Well, here’s your chance to earn it back. Your shot, double or nothing.” 

The grin Bishop gives at the challenge is worth the chance of losing my recent winnings. Except not really. 

He crouches close to the ground, hidden by the dusk, and carefully takes aim. Just before releasing, I whisper “Psst,” and bend over, flashing him a decent amount of cleavage. His eyes drift to the breasts in his peripheral vision as his arrow shoots out and lodges itself barely to the left of the bandit’s head. He whips back around the corner as heavy footsteps approach, and we stifle our laughter. 

My dagger sinks into the bandit’s neck the moment he breeches the exit. “Okay, that is like the fifth thing you’ve killed that way today. What is your deal with necks?”

I shrug. “It’s just fun.” 

”Yeah, alright. Remind me to get a better neck guard next time we see a blacksmith.”

We creep along the passage, and there at the end is a wolf in a cage who stands and wags it’s tail with glee the moment Bishop comes into view. “You must be Karnwyr,” I say, opening the cage. Karnwyr sniffs at my hand curiously before giving it a lick. 

Anyways, Bishop scolds Karnwyr for getting caught and then we kill bandits. 

When the last thug falls, I turn to Bishop, only to see that was in fact _not_ the last thug. Another approaches my companion, greatsword in hand. “ _FUS RO_!” One simple Shout sends the brute flying into the surprisingly sturdy fence around the fighting pit. Bishop and I both cringe at the sickening snap of his spine breaking, but an unbothered Karnwyr trots forward and bites through the man’s throat, turning his screams into gurgles until it all stops. 

”Hey, princess, quick question. What the _fuck_ was that?” Bishop demands. Anger filled his voice, but his eyes betrayed the true feeling of shock. 

I’m suddenly very of how uncomfortable my armor is. And how uncomfortable my existence is. “Oh, you know. Just...I may have forgotten to mention that I’m Dragonborn?” 

If Bishop was shocked before, he is now in a stupor. “Dragonborn? You _forgot_ to mention that you’re _Dragonborn_?”

”It didn’t seem relevant?” I say, wincing. 

Bishop slaps his palms to his eyes and drags them down his face. “Anything else I should know before we head out?”

My mouth opens and then closes again as I process what he said. “Wait. Before ‘we’ head out? Like, together?” 

For a split second, he looks almost flustered, but then his typical cocky smirk returns. “Well sure. You said you had a job to do not far from here, and you helped me get Karnwyr back, so I figured I’d join you for awhile. See what other trouble we can get ourselves into.” I bite my lip, debating with myself how much I can and should say about the “job” I have. “You alright there, princess?”

”Yeah!” I answer, snapping back to attention. “Yeah. Uh, you can absolutely come if you want, but to give you a fair warning, the job I have to do is...unconventional.” 

”Well at least you’re not vague about it. Lead the way, ladyship.”

”So let me get this straight,” Bishop says in between gulps of air, face flush from the cold and the adrenaline. We lean against a wall around the corner from where I shot Nilsine Shatter-Shield dead in an alley of Windhelm the next day. “You don’t tell me you’re Dragonborn. When you finally do, I ask if there’s anything else I should know. And you choose _not_ to tell me that you’re an assassin until _now_ , after you rope me into killing some random girl with you?”

”I told you it was unconventional.”

”That’s not unconventional! It’s just straight up MUR-!”

”Shhhh!”

Bishop’s voice lowers to a whisper, and he still seems angry, but there’s something almost like excitement in his eyes as well. We argue over semantics in hushed tones until the sound of quickly approaching footsteps registers in our ears. Without a second of forethought, both of us pull each other close until our mouths meet, praying to Sithis we look like nothing more than an impassioned couple that just so happens to be close to a crime scene. I’m surprised we both seemed to have the same idea, but Bishop takes the act a step further by pushing me up against the wall and running his hand up my chest until my breast is firmly in his grasp. It takes everything I have not to slap him and blow our cover. 

”Oy!” Bishop breaks away, and I catch a devilish smirk on his face before we turn to the guard that appears around the corner. “You two see anyone pass by this way?”I turn to Bishop, Bishop turns to me, and we both turn back to the guards and shake our heads. “Damn. Let a guard know if you see anything suspicious, will you? Oh, and get a room.”

The moment he’s gone, I lay into Bishop. “You touch new like again without permission, and you’re dead,” I growl. 

”Oh, don’t try to tell me you didn’t like it,” he says with another grin, and he throws his arm around my shoulder and steers me towards the city gate, Karnwyr happily following close behind. “Who’re we killing next?” 

I roll my eyes but can’t bring myself to protest. “I thought murder wasn’t your cup of tea. Change of heart?”

”I said I wanted to see what trouble we could get into. Can’t back out now. I’m no wuss.” 

“Well then, more murder it is. Next up is a bandit named Alain Dufont, holed up in Raldbthar.”

Most of the bandits outside of the Dwemer ruins were conveniently killed by a Dwarven Centurion while Bishop, Karnwyr, and I crouched below on the stone staircase leading up to them. The three survivors were not given time to rest after they valiantly downed the construct before we emerged and slaughtered them, their blood staining the snow red. The bandits inside were just as easy to pick off as we crept across the shadows, and soon enough, Alain Dufont and his men all laid dead.

Bishop and I now lounge on their bed rolls and eat their food. “You know,” he says around a mouthful of bread, “staying in inns is nice every now and then, but I’ll always prefer camping out in old ruins or forests. 

I nod, absentmindedly stroking Karnwyr’s fur and watching the flames of a torch dance around with a serene smile on my face. “Reminds me of when I first struck out on my own. I didn’t have enough coin for luxuries like inns, so this was pretty much my life for the first couple of years. Now I’m just glad to be anywhere but home,” I admit. My back rests against the wall as I let my eyes drift shut. 

”You have a home? I thought you were a wanderer.” 

”I am, more or less.” My parents died recently, and I inherited everything, including our home. I don’t spend too much time there though. Too empty.” 

Something lands on my lap, and I open my eyes to see Karnwyr resting his head on my thighs. “Karnwyr’s sweet,” I say, continuing to pet his head. 

”He likes you,” Bishop says with a gentle smile. “You know why? You don’t treat him like a regular pet. You know what he’s capable of, but you’re also not afraid of him like other people. You two understand each other.” 

I smile while Bishop watches the two of us carefully. “I’m gonna get some sleep,” he says after a minute of silence. “You should too, princess.” I nod and gently nudge Karnwyr off of me so I can lay down. He gives my cheek a lick before going to lay with Bishop. 

Both moons are high in the sky by the time we arrive in Markarth the next day. In the morning, we find Muiri, receive our payment, and head to Falkreath. 

”The life of an assassin is much different than I would have imagined. Less killing, more traveling. Praise the divines for horses, or I may have decided against joining you.” 

”My apologies. I guess I hoped the pleasure of my company outweighed some long walks.” 

Bishop and I banter as we travel, but there’s a certain...tension. I’m uncomfortably aware of the fact that Cicero will almost definitely be in the sanctuary when we arrive, and the anxiety of him and Bishop meeting is gnawing at me in a way I wouldn’t have expected. 

”And who might this be?” Astrid asks with a raised eyebrow as we step into the entrance hall. 

”This is Bishop. We met on the road, and he was interested in...what we do.”

Astrid sighs and eyes him up and down. “As long as he understands the pecking order here, then I suppose he can stay. Sithis knows we’re a dying breed. But next time, new members come through me and me alone. Understood, Rhiannon?” 

”Of course.” 

”How did the contract go?” 

”Good. Now I have something more...personal I need you to deal with.” 

My eyebrows raise. “Alright, what is it?” 

”Cicero.” 

My heart skips a beat at the name, and I see Bishop’s eyes narrow as he observes my reaction. 

Apparently Cicero has been “conspiring” with someone in the room where the Night Mother is kept. And Astrid demands I hide in the coffin to eavesdrop on them. 

”You hide in the coffin. I’ll show your...friend around.” 

I begrudgingly follow my orders and wave bye to Bishop, but he continues to glare straight ahead. The door to the Night Mother’s coffin swings open. It doesn’t smell as putrid as I thought it might, but the corpse inside was still an unpleasant sight. I take a tentative step in and shut the door behind me, closing myself in with Mother. 

Several minutes pass before I grow impatient enough to be convinced I’m wasting my time. The moment my hand touches the coffin lid to push it open, however, I hear the door to the room open and shut again, accompanied with Cicero’s unmistakable humming. 

”Are we alone? Oh YES, sweet solitude! Everything is going according to plan. Well, mostly everything. I’ve spoken to the others, and they’re coming around, I know it! The wizard, Festus Krex. Perhaps even the Argonian and the un-child! Rhiannon is...occupied.” My ears perk up at the sound of my name, but I recoil when I hear the way he hisses the last word. “Kissing that brute in the streets, mere yards from her dead target! So unprofessional! It’s not as if poor Cicero is...jealous or...insecure.... No! Well perhaps...NO!” 

So Cicero’s been following me then. But how? He can’t have been following me the whole time, or he wouldn’t have been able to take care of the Night Mother here, or have the conversations Astrid’s heard.

”No matter. What about you? Have you...spoken to anyone? No. Of course not. _I_ do the talking, the stalking, the seeing, and the slaying! Not that...not that I’m angry.... Oh, but you will speak when you’re ready, won’t you? _Sweet_ Night Mother?” 

And there it is. I should have know. Astrid should have known. 

”Poor Cicero.” 

The voice I hear now isn’t Cicero’s, but it’s one I’ve heard before. Deep below the ground, in a crypt under Bravil. 

”Dear Cicero. Such a humble servant. But he will never hear my voice. He is not the Listener.” 

It seemed distant before. Now though? The graying voice is right in my ear, coming from directly behind me, where the Night Mother rests. I should be scared, but I’m not. Just like the first time, despite the harsh and croaky quality of the voice, I feel only calmness and serenity. 

”I will speak to _you_ , though. Yes, you who shares my iron tomb and warms my ancient bones. I give you this task- journey to Volunruud and speak to Amaund Motierre.” 

”Poor Cicero has failed you! Poor Cicero is sorry, sweet Mother! I tried so very hard, but I just can’t find the Listener!” 

”Tell Cicero the time has come,” Mother continues while Cicero weeps. “Tell him the words he’s been waiting for all these years. _Darkness rises when silence dies.”_

On it! Filled with confidence, I throw open the coffin...and my feeling of peace swiftly dissipates when I see the mixture of shock and rage on Cicero’s face.

”Rhiannon...what...what TREACHERY!” he shrieks, stepping forward with his hands balled into fists. 

”Cicero, wait, I can explain!” Instead if backing away like I probably should, I stagger forward, hands raised in surrender. 

Cicero’s eyes seem to flash several different shades as his conflicting emotions each take over. “Rhi...sweet Rhiannon, why would you DO SUCH A THING! You’ve VIOLATED the Night Mother’s coffin! SPEAK!” 

”Darkness rises when silence dies!” 

Everything in the world is frozen for a moment, including my thoughts and breath. 

”But...those are the words. Those are the Binding Words. So you...Listener?” As Cicero processes what’s happening, he inches towards me until we’re toe to toe. I nod without a word, and just as he leans in towards me, the door to the room swings open. Astrid runs in, followed close behind by Bishop. His eyes lock onto me and Cicero standing so close together and narrow. 

”This ends now! Back away, fool! Where’s the accomplice?” Astrid shouts, looking around the room. 

He was only talking to the Night Mother,” I say, eyes trained on Bishop’s. 

”The Night Mother? Then what in Sithis’ name is going on here?” 

Cicero leaps to the sky and claps his hands together. “The Listener has been chosen! The silence has been broken!” he declares, unable to contain himself anymore. “Sweet Rhiannon has given the Binding Words! She gets to hear voices in her head,” he says smugly. Suddenly his voice drops an octave, and he meets Bishop’s eyes. “The rest of us should be so lucky.” 

Astrid struggles to deal with the news and eventually leaves the room, instructing me _not_ to go to Volunruud until she can think everything through. Cicero dances off to bed, and Bishop and I are left alone. 

”So...what’s the deal with the lunatic?” 

”What do you mean?” 

”Oh, don’t try to play coy with me. You know exactly what I mean. Are you two...an item or something?” 

I roll my eyes and try to leave the room, too tired to deal with this, but Bishop blocks the door. “No. We’re not an item. Satisfied?” 

”Not even close, ladyship. Were you an item in the past?” 

”No.” 

“Do you _want_ to be an item?” 

”No! Bishop, why do you even care? You’ve said yourself you don’t trust me, and we barely know each other. Why the sudden jealousy?” 

Bishop snorts. “Jealousy? I’m not _jealous_ , princess, believe me. Just very deeply concerned for your sanity if you can be attracted to that madman.” 

”If you’re not jealous, then who I’m attracted to shouldn’t matter to you. Move. I want to go to bed.” 

”So you _are_ attracted to him. Got it.” He steps to the side, fuming. 

I storm out of the room and straight into bed without so much as taking off my boots. My ears strain as I listen for Bishop to come to his bed too, but no footsteps come. Impatient and curious, I groan after several minutes and get up to see where he is. 

Most of the sanctuary is silent, as almost everyone is in bed or out on a contract, but after a bit of wandering, I hear Bishop’s gruff voice. “-And if you ever hurt her, I will gut you like a fish. Is that understood?” 

”Perfectly! I couldn’t even if I tried! Mother would certainly disapprove. The Keeper harming the Listener, could you imagine?” Cicero’s shrill laughter floods through the hall leading to his room, where I stand at the entrance. 

”Right.” Venom drips from Bishop’s voice, and he suddenly appears from around the corner. There’s only a fraction of a second that he hesitates before stomping straight past me. 

I step into Cicero’s room. He’ll talk to me, no doubt. Cicero sits in a chair, facing away from the entrance. “He cared for you more deeply than he wants to let on. Humble Cicero will concede to that,” he says without turning around. 

”I heard the last part. What else did he say?” 

”That’s between me and him.” Cicero’s voice sound almost normal. This is the most lucid I’ve ever seen him. 

Sighing, I plop down into the empty chair across the table from him. “You followed me?” 

”I wanted to check on you since it was your first big contract.” 

”We only kissed so us being in that alley would be less suspicious, you know. It wasn’t...romantic or anything.” 

”Half-truths are still half-lies.” 

Cicero abruptly spins in his chair to face me. “But now is no time to be sad! You are the Listener! I’ve served Mother well, I have!” 

A groan slips out of my mouth, and I lay my head in the table in front of me. “What do I even _do_ as Listener?” 

”Well, the Listener...listens!” 

For the next hour, Cicero explains to me the functioning of the Black Hand, and then he spends another hour ranting about the disgraceful state of the Brotherhood for abandoning the Five Tenets. It’s only when I start bobbing my head as I try to stay awake that the talking comes to an end. But when I rise to take my leave and go to bed, the exhaustion finally hits me full-force, and I almost collapse in a heap on the floor. The only thing that prevents that is Cicero’s reflexes. 

”’M sorry,” I moan as he cradles me in his arms and leaves the room. 

”Hush. Sleep tight, sweet Rhiannon.” 

My eyes close without any further convincing. I’m half-asleep and fatigued enough to not bother reacting when I hear talking. “Alright, what’d you do to her?”

”We talked, and she fell asleep, silly ranger. As if you didn’t already know. You were sulking outside my room the whole time.” 

A beat passes. ”You couldn’t possibly know that! I didn’t move a muscle until I left.” 

Cicero lowers my body down onto my bed, but they continue to talk. “You breathe so very loudly. It’s not poor Cicero’s fault he could hear you the whole time.” 

”Could you stop talking like a psycho for two seconds? I’m trying to have a conversation with a human, not a dog that suddenly gained the ability to speak.” 

Another moment of silence passes. “I was alone with Mother in the Cheydinhal sanctuary for ten years. I’m well-acquainted with true silence.” 

”Fair enough. Look, you care about her, and that’s...nice and all, but you’re in over your head. You realize that, right?”

”I can’t be in over my head when I’ve already lost it.” 

Cicero’s laughter fades away, and when it disappears entirely, I feel the side of my bed sink and gentle hands remove my boots and set them aside. The mattress raises again, and hot breath caresses my forehead for several seconds before a pair of lips swiftly presses against it and then vanish. 

Well now I’m awake. 

My eyes open and Bishop jumps. “Bishop?” 

”Sh! You’re...dreaming.” 

”Okay.” 


	8. Time to Kill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhiannon and Bishop kill some time before returning to the sanctuary again. When they do, they receive quite a contract, and Rhiannon is reunited with a friend from her past.

"How do you feel about surprises?"

I eye Bishop with suspicion. "I'm not necessarily opposed to them. Why? What do you have in mind?"

"Well if I tell you, then it wouldn't be a surprise, would it?" He chuckles as he folds up his map before I can get a peek.

We head out of the sanctuary and mount our horses. Nazir had given me a couple of small contracts to tide me over until Astrid is done being a bitch, but if I'm being honest, they aren't exactly high on my priority list. As Bishop and I pass through Falkreath, we're hunted down by a courier, who gives me a letter from Lydia. Apparently Jarl Balgruuf requested we come meet with him "at our earliest convenience."

Bishop naturally insists his thing is more important. 

"You seem like you're in a better mood than last night," I say cautiously while we ride.

"Yep."

"Do...do you think we should talk about what happened?"

"There's nothing to talk about."

"I mean-"

"Rhiannon, look." Hearing him refer to me by my actual name is jolting, and he turns to face me. "I thought about it a lot last night. Couldn't sleep. Reached a conclusion. Now I'd like to move on. So that's what I'm doing." 

"Alright, then what's this conclusion you've reached?"

A small smile plays on his lips. "I think that will be clear in time. Maybe a long time. Who knows? I'm new to this. No more questions."

I roll my eyes, and we journey on. Several hours later, we find ourselves climbing the steps of a _very_ old tower until we reach a platform overlooking nearly half of Skyrim. "Well, we're here. It's no Throat of the World, but it's mine. Partly, a long time ago. My first home."

My eyes devour the view of the mountains and hot springs of Eastmarch and the golden trees of the Rift glowing in the sunlight. "It's beautiful. Why are we here?"

Bishop's eyes light up when I call it beautiful. "To me, this is the most important place in Skyrim. It's where I found Karnwyr as a cub. This tower's still standing because of a man I once knew. He's...gone now. Anyway. I've never brought anyone here before. I made the first good decision of my life here, and I wanted to make you a part of it. You're here because...trust doesn't come easy for me. And I want you to know that I...trust you."

I blink in surprise. "Who are you and what have you done with Bishop?"

He laughs and steps toward me. "Right here, sweetness, telling you I trust you. Can you do the same? Trust me?"

"I'll trust you...unless you steal my sweetroll."

"Not your sweetroll," he says with another laugh and another step, "but I think I'll steal something else right now." He closes what's left of the gap between us by pulling me forward by my waist before he tentatively presses his lips to mine, only deepening the kiss when he feels me welcome it.

And then he pulls away. 

The contact is so brief that I'm left with whiplash. "What was that for?" I ask as he begins to head down the stairs. "There aren't any guards to distract this time."

"No, princess, that one was just for fun." I can't see his face, but I can hear the smirk in his voice. "Look, I'm not really a...romance kind of guy. Let's get going, we've got things to kill."

It only takes a few hours to get to Whiterun from the tower, but the sun has all but disappeared beneath the horizon. Lydia is already waiting for us (well, me) in The Bannered Mare. "Who's this?" she asks, eyebrow raised and lips curled in a suggestive smile. 

"Bishop. Found him all alone and afraid in Riverwood, so I decided to take him under my wing," I say, ruffling his hair.

"Pfft, you wish princess." He turns to Lydia. "She can't deal with the fact that I don't swoon every time she glances in my direction like every other guy."

"Sounds like you need a woman that appreciates you," a sultry voice says. 

Everyone in our group, including Karnwyr, who is resting at Bishop's feet, looks up to see a ~~whore~~ scantily-clad woman approach and put her hand on Bishop's shoulder. Bishop looks at her for barely a moment before turning back to me. "Who in Oblivion is this wench? You know her?" Lydia and I simultaneously shake our heads. "Good enough for me. Shoo, flea." He waves his hand dismissively in her direction. 

"Oh, I know you don't mean that. I'm Neeshka. Don't you think I'm pretty?"

 ~~The whore~~ Neeshka shoots me a look of loathing when I try and fail to stifle a laugh. 

"I think you're a pest, now go away."

The two go back and forth like this for awhile. Apparently the words 'fuck off' are entirely foreign to this woman. She finally leaves when Lydia and I are both unable to contain ourselves and are cackling in delight at the entertainment.

"Looks like you've got yourself a fangirl, ranger," I say in between bouts of giggles and gasps for air. Bishop just grumbles and chugs the rest of his ale. 

We continue to drink and enjoy our company until late in the night. "Alright, Lydia," I say, slapping my hands on the table. "Bath time, then bed."

"Yes, my Thane."

"Have fun, you two. Let me know if you need some extra hands in the bath," Bishop says with a wink. 

Lydia escorts me to the bathroom, helps me to strip out of my armor, and begins to wet my hair once I'm in the tub. For someone that I've seen fight dragons in our travels with such ferocity, it always throws me for a loop when I'm reminded how gentle and nurturing she can be. She tenderly massages my scalp with the tepid bath water, scrubbing out all the oil and grime. A chill runs down my spine as she moves to my back and caresses it with a damp cloth all the way down to my waist.

"So, are you gonna tell me about...your new family?"

I snort. "Not much to tell. The leader is a narcissistic control freak. Her husband's a jerk. Everyone else is nice enough. One of them is a vampire child, and she's precious. 

"And Cicero?"

My eyes close, and I sink down into down into the water enough to cover my chin. "Yeah, he's there too."

"You don't sound as thrilled about that as you were before," she observes, beginning to massage woodash soap into my hair. "Does that have anything to do with the dreamy ranger?"

Drunk me reacts by turning and splashing water at my Housecarl. Thankfully, she is also drunk, so she laughs and splashes me back. 

"A lot has happened," I tell her once we calm down. By the time I'm done explaining everything to her, the water has become cold. 

"I see. So...which do you like more?" she asks as she helps me into the clothes I wear under my armor. 

I groan. "It doesn't matter. Bishop said he's not a 'romance kind of guy', and my feelings for Cicero are...complicated. And honestly? I'd rather be alone than tied down at this point in my life anyways. Ready to go?"

Lydia nods, and we head back into the tavern area. And there's ~~the whore~~ Neeshka, throwing herself at Bishop again. My jaw clenches.

"I make a good bellywarmer, we hear her say. They haven't noticed us approaching. 

"I already told you I'm not interested. Now _leave me alone_ before I split your damn throat so you can't bother me anymore."

"What makes _her_ so special?"

Bishop stands and puts his hand on the hilt of his dagger. "She just is. Get. Lost. Now."

Neeshka finally gets the message and leaves with shoulders slumped in defeat. Her eyes narrow as she spots me and Lydia. 

I pull out my chair and slide into it with a shit-eating grin. "So, I'm special, huh?"

Bishop looks sheepish for a moment before he smiles. "More wishful thinking, ladyship. Obviously I was talking about your Housecarl here."

"Sure you were. We're going to bed. You coming?"

"Yeah, might as well." 

Lydia leads the way upstairs, and when she rounds the corner into our room, Bishop grabs me and kisses me swiftly before slapping my bottom and passing me on the stairs. 

"Pervert," I whisper. He laughs, and we prepare for bed. 

Next time you girls decide to hog the bed, let know so I can sleep out in the grass or something. Anything's better than that floor," Bishop says, groaning and rubbing his neck. 

"We weren't stopping you from getting your own room," I say. The ranger opens his mouth to argue but quickly closes it with an annoyed frown. 

Everyone gets ready for the day, and we begin the short walk to Dragonsreach. Jarl Balgruuf informs me that some residents have been put off by having a Thane that doesn't own any property in the hold, but he offers me a house in the city called Breezehome at a discounted price for the inconvenience. I accept and decide to have Lydia stay there instead of Silian Manor. 

Over the next several days, Bishop and I frolic through Skyrim, doing fuck all. We take care of our contracts at our leisure, explore some caves, and of course, continue to dance around the building tension between us. Several men attempt to hit on me throughout the week or so we travel. Needless to say, Bishop doesn't handle it very well. But his sharp tongue sure seems to have fun with it. 

After about a week, we finally return to the sanctuary. "You're back. Good. I was beginning to worry," Astrid says when we walk in. "I've been thinking, and I've reached a decision. If the Night Mother really did speak to you, we'd be fools to ignore it. Go to Volunruud, see what's going on, and report back to me."

"On it."

A glare sits on Bishop's face as he follows me down the stairs and into the common area. I lean down to splash some water from the spring on my face, but Bishop grabs me by my upper arm and drags me to the closest empty room. "Ow, what the fuck? Let go," I growl. He listens and releases me once we're in the room, shutting the door behind him. 

"Why the fuck do you let her treat you like this? She bosses you around, refuses to acknowledge you being the Listener, and is just an all around cunt. Why put up with it?" he demands, towering over me. 

I roll my eyes and smile. "Keep your friends close..."

"And your enemies closer," he finishes, his expression softening. "Clever girl."

"Not really. You just don't have a diplomatic bone in your body," I tease. "You saw how she reacted when she only suspected Cicero was conspiring against her. Bottom line is, she is the last leader of the Dark Brotherhood, and she's not fit for it. She's lost sight of the tenets, abandoned Sithis. That needs correction, one way or another."

Bishop nods in understanding. 

We stay the night in the sanctuary, and the next in Breezehome on our way to Volunruud. Amaund Motierre is in fact there, and his contract is for none other than the Emperor of Tamriel. He gives us a letter explaining all the details and steps that will need to be taken leading up to the final target, along with an amulet to sell to cover expenses. Astrid has us meet with a friend of hers in the Thieves Guild that is willing to purchase the amulet while she begins making preparations. She doesn't mention me being the Listener a single time, despite her glee for the contract. 

The contract keeps Bishop and I busy, so we don't see much of Cicero. When we do, the fool of course gravitates towards me and tries to hold onto as much attention from me as he can, much to the dismay of Bishop. But surprisingly, Bishop doesn't lash out. There are times when his frustration is clear, and he's occasionally opened his mouth to say something only to close it again and fume silently, but he makes a noticeable effort to remain civil and even make conversation with Cicero. 

We finally get our first small target leading up to the Emperor- his cousin, Vittoria Vici, who is to be killed at her wedding in three days. The wedding is in Solitude, which means we'll be able to stay in my home instead of an inn or camp. Once we leave the sanctuary, it's like a weight has been lifted from Bishop's shoulders. A smile is on his face during our whole journey as he plays with Karnwyr and holds me close when we take breaks.

That prolonged happiness comes to a swift end when we enter the city of Solitude the next morning and find a hulking man in gleaming armor lost in thought by the gate.

And I know him. 

"Casavir?" I say loudly in disbelief that it could really be him. 

The paladin's head shoots up, and a smile spreads across his face when his eyes meet mine. "Rhiannon!" I sprint into his open arms, nostalgic at his familiar scent of steel and honey. 

"What are you doing here?" I ask when I finally pull away.

"I'm actually looking for...well, you, my lady," he says in his deep voice. I blink in surprise and wait for him to continue. "At least, I believe I am. I was looking for the Dragonborn." Heat rises to my cheeks. "I heard it was a woman who lived in Solitude. When I got here, the locals said it was a girl named Rhiannon whose parents lived here, and they described her as looking just like you. I remembered you said you grew up in Solitude too. It seemed like too big of a coincidence.... So are you? Are you the Dragonborn?"

I know for a fact that he can see my blush and that he knows me well enough to already know the answer. "Uh...sorta?" I say with a wince.

Casavir's eyes widen before he takes a knee in front of me, head bowed. "Dragonborn. It is my honor to stand before you."

"It's no different than any of the other times you've seen me, Cas," I say, my blush deepening as curious people watch the display. 

When he stands back up, he opens his mouth to speak before his eyes narrow and lock onto a point behind me. I follow his gaze and turn to see Bishop, looking more enraged than I've ever seen him. "You two know each other?" he asks through gritted teeth. 

" _You_ two know each other?" Casavir asks in return. 

"Ugh, this is just great," Bishop says, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

I blink in shock and shake my head. "Okay, wait, you can get back to whatever bad blood is between you in a minute," I say, looking backing back to Casavir. "Why are you looking for the Dragonborn?"

Cas reluctantly takes his eyes off of Bishop to look at me. "My lady, I wish to aid you in your efforts to keep the dragons at bay."

"Nope. Out of the question."

"Bishop, zip it," I hiss. 

"I only wish to help her. Much as I imagine you're doing now."

"She doesn't need your help. Go find some other Dragonborn that will deal with your self-righteousness."

"Bishop. A word." I drag my ranger a good distance away from Casavir and look him dead in the eye. "What in Oblivion is wrong with you?"

He glares down at me. "Me? What's wrong with _you_? Have you seen the way he looks at you like you're some sort of prize to be won?" I open my mouth, but Bishop cuts me off. "And before you say it, no, I'm not jealous. How do you know the guy anyways?"

"We were friends back in Cyrodiil. He's the one that taught me to fight after I ran away. How do _you_ know him?"

Bishop rolls his eyes. "I've run into him a few times over the years. Listen, princess, you can't trust him. He's not the saint he pretends to be. And if you've seriously fallen for his holy knight charade then I guess I've seriously misjudged your intelligence."

"My lady?" Casavir says softly, approaching us. 

"We're a little busy, your holiness."

"Enough!" I shout, getting a scornful look from Bishop. "I'm going to speak with Cas alone for a minute, Bishop. Calm yourself down before I get back.

"Sorry, Cas," I say once we're out of earshot. "He doesn't know when to shut up."

"You have nothing to apologize for, my lady. Although if you don't mind my saying so, I'm rather worried about your choice of companionship."

"Why do you hate each other so much?"

Casavir sighs. "Bishop is nothing more than a savage wolf. I'm sworn to protect the world from people exactly like him."

"He's not bad once you get to know him, Cas," I say gently. "He can be an ass at times, but he can also be really sweet."

A strange look crosses Casavir's face. "Forgive the intrusion, my lady, but are the two of you...involved?"

My cheeks flush red again. "It's...complicated."

Cas nods slowly. "I see.... Well then, I hope I am not overstepping when I ask this, but I wanted to invite you to attend the Grand Crystal Ball with me this evening. It's in celebration of Vittoria Vici's wedding tomorrow. I believe as the Dragonborn you've been invited to that as well?"

"Uh yeah, more or less." I wrinkle my nose. "I'm not sure. Balls aren't really my kind of thing, especially ones with cheesy names. Besides, I don't have anything to wear."

"I've actually already told the owner of The Jewel here in Solitude that I would compensate her for anything the Dragonborn purchases for the ball." I raise my eyebrow, and he smiles sheepishly. "As much as I hoped it was in fact you, I intended on inviting the Dragonborn either way."

"I understand. Well...sure! Fuck it. Sounds like fun, Cas."

His cheeks flare red as he gives me a pleased grin. "Thank you for this honor, my lady. If you don't mind, I'd like a word with your companion before I return to the Blue Palace to get ready." I hesitate. "I know how to be civil, my lady." 

I nod, and we walk back to Bishop, who looks moments away from having steam come out of his ears. "Bishop, I'd like to speak to you."

"You and I don't have anything to say to one another."

"Mara's mercy, Bishop, just go," I groan. 

He rolls his eyes and follows Casavir around a corner. Naturally, I sneak up to the edge of the wall, close enough to listen but not enough to be seen. 

"You must be really knotted up if you're taking the time to speak with me."

"I'm speaking with you so I can tell you that I am watching you. I don't trust you, and neither should she."

"That's all you've got? Really? You must be the hundredth lust-filled boot licker that's tried to tell her not to trust me. Sailors, mages, paladins, and the best any of you have is 'oh don't trust the big bad ranger man'? You know, out of all these liars trying to drive us apart, you're the worst kind, and you know why? You want so badly for everyone to accept this image your present that you've managed to convince even yourself that it's the truth. You're not half the saint you pretend to be. She's too good for you, and she's going to see right through that mask you wear."

"I would suggest holding your tongue when you don't know what you're speaking of. She's known me much longer than she's known you, and she's had plenty of chances to judge my character. And clearly, she's mad up her mind. Why else would she accept my invitation to the ball tonight?"

Bishop cackles. "She's going to a ball with you? Oh, this is perfect! You don't even realize the trap you've put yourself in. You may begin the night as a saint, but the _man_ in you will want that wench in your bed just like any sensible man would."

"Do not speak that way!"

"You're right, my apologies. Any sensible woman would want her as well."

"You know what I meant, Bishop."

Bishop gives a loud, drawn out sigh. "You're no fun- another reason she won't like you. And you're just showcasing how little you understand her. Don't play the hero. She's perfectly capable of defending her own honor. She's not some damsel in distress who needs a big strong knight to rescue her. Your lust blinds you to that, and to the fact that she's too much woman for your to handle."

"You still don't know what you're talking about," Casavir hisses. "I am a paladin. I have taken a holy vow not to-"

"Yeah, yeah, you don't need to give me the speech. You're still human though. You really think you'll be able to drown out your primal desires when she's dancing up against you all night? I'd wager not. And boy, can I not wait to see that facade of yours crack. Now be a good boy and get lost."

Bishop rounds the corner before I have time to run from the wall. He rolls his eyes with a smirk as I grin up at him in embarrassment. "Hey, I was just looking at this brick," I say, pointing to the wall. 

"Sure you were, princess," he says with a laugh. 

"You're not angry about the ball?"

He shrugs. "I don't like it, but hey, whatever it takes to get you to see who he really is."

"By the nine, Bishop, give it a rest! He's my friend. He's been my friend for years, and that's not about to change any time soon." Bishop huffs. "Listen...what would you think of inviting him to journey with us?"

"I would leave. Simple as that." 

"Oh, come on. Can't you play nice? Like you do with Cicero?" 

"I play nice with Cicero because I can tell he actually cares for you as a person. The same can't be said for Casavir."

"Don't you think that maybe you're just a bit biased?"

Bishop pauses for a moment. "No, absolutely not."

"You hesitated," I say, with a grin. 

"Did not."

"Did so."

"Did not."

"Did so."

"Look, it doesn't matter! I will not travel with him. So if you'd rather go with him, then be my guest, but I won't stick around for it." I sigh and lean against the wall. "Besides, how do you think he'll feel about your...family activities?"

My eyebrow quirks up. "Well, you got me there, I say, smirking. "And I would really rather not give up my ranger just yet."

Bishop's face lights up, and he leans down to give me a gentle kiss. "Let's get a move on, sweetness. Dresses can't buy themselves."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this?! A fully fleshed out Casavir?! Lol Casavir's character in the mod was honestly kind of disappointing to me, but something about him and Rhiannon being friends in the past seemed oddly fitting to me, plus a great way to give him more depth. Soooo hopefully when Mara gives us a mod to romance him with, we get some more from him, but for now, enjoy a paladin with more backstory here :)


	9. Dancing Through Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhiannon and Casavir attend the Grand Crystal Ball. It’s a...time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo this is the point where my take on Bishop diverges some from what is canon. Like I said, I want to give him more character growth than what he’s given in the mod. This is probably the biggest instance of that. So just remember that yes, I AM aware that this is not “in-character”, so to speak.
> 
> Also yes, the title is a Wicked reference lol

I shift nervously in my crimson gown while Bishop watches me with narrowed eyes. “Stop staring at me like you hate me.”

”It’s not you I hate, princess. It’s that dress. It’s so hideous I wanna rip it off of ya,” he says with a wink. 

I laugh until he steps toward me, backing me into a wall and placing his hands on either side of me. “You don’t have to go, you know. You could stay here. We can find some other way to entertain ourselves.” Despite his usual confident smirk, his eyes are soft and pleading. 

”You said you were okay with me going.”

”And I am, if you really want to. But I’d still rather be the one with you in my arms tonight. Or any night.”

I study Bishop’s face. His brows knit together, lips turned down, and amber eyes locked on me. I hate seeing him sad. 

My head shakes, and I nudge his arm away, sliding past him. “I already told Cas I would go. And he’s still my friend, and I still want to spend time with him.”

Bishop growls and grabs my arm, spinning me into his body before planting his lips on mine and forcing my mouth open with my tongue. He holds onto my waist like it’s a lifeline. When he finally releases me, it takes a moment to catch my breath. “Just...think of me while you’re gone. Alright?”

It finally hits me that these few hours will be the longest we’ve been apart since meeting. I nod and give him a soft kiss. “Try not to set the place on fire while I’m out.”

”I’ll do my best, but no promises. Have fun, princess, and if anyone lays a hand on you, cut it off for me.”

”Will do.”

The ball gown I wear catches quite a few stares on my way into the city, and I do my best to ignore them. When Casavir, in his suave fine clothing, catches sight of me, a deep blush creeps up his face. “I feel so unprotected,” I say with an anxious chuckle. 

Cas smiles. “It’s not much worse than that light armor, my lady.”

”Oh! I was worried you had lost your sense of humor, but I see it was just being stifled under all that steel.”

He gives me a bashful smile, and his blush deepens as he offers me his arm. “Mara’s mercy, Cas, you act like we’ve never had any physical contact before,” I say teasingly. 

Against all odds, his cheeks get even _more_ red, now resembling a ripe tomato. “Forgive me, my lady. I am admittedly in awe of...how much you’ve grown the last few years. It seems the passing of time has escaped me. I hear your voice and expect to see the small but fierce girl that stopped me in the street to ask me about my sword skills nearly a decade ago. Now you’re not only a strong and beautiful woman, but you’re also the Dragonborn.”

I laugh as my face reddens to match his. “I was already an adult the last time we were together. And I wasn't little when we met either!”

”Of course, whatever you say, my lady.” I lightly punch his arm as he smirks at me.

* * *

Casavir was seventeen when we met, two years my senior. I had been living in a remote area of the Great Forest, but I regularly crossed the bridge into the Imperial City when I got bored hanging around my campsite. I loved the people, the smell, the food, and the bustle of activity. But most of all, I loved to pester one of the local blacksmiths, Hadius. He was big and calloused and rude, but he had a daughter around my age that had passed shortly before we met, so he had a soft spot for me. As long as I didn't get in his way, he would let me watch him work his forge.

About a year after I had run away and many months of watching Hadius, I saved up enough gold from doing odd jobs and selling animal skins to buy a sword and a bow. Only Hadius refused to sell to me. Instead, he taught me, taking only the gold needed for the supplies of my own weapons and armor. I apprenticed under him for two years after that.

But after he helped me to make my first sword, he gave me the disappointing news that he was a horrible fighter and couldn't train me to use it well. I spent the evening wandering the streets and trying to think of someone to train me when I spotted a boy around my age in pristine steel armor with a hefty greatsword strapped to his back.

Yes, obviously it was Casavir.

Desperate to learn, I skipped up to him and slowed to match his leisurely pace. "You any good with that sword?"

The boy looked down at me with his crystal eyes. "I like to think so." His deep voice sent a chill down my spine in a way I had never experienced before.

"Are you trained?"

"In the process of training. I hope to become a paladin soon. Why do you ask?"

I snatched his hand and yanked him from the busy street into an alley before I pulled out my new sword. "I just got this, but I don't have anyone to teach me. Who's teaching you? Are they able to take on a new student?"

The boy ran a hand through his raven hair, frowning. "I'm being trained by paladins at the Temple of the One. If you were interested in becoming a paladin, then I am sure they would be happy to take you on. But I do not believe they are willing to train just anyone. I'm sorry, miss."

My hope vanished as quickly as it came. "I see. Thank you for your time," I said, turning to leave.

"I can teach you what I know!" I heard suddenly. I looked back to see the boy's features all scrunched up, veins bulging from his red face like he was holding his breath.

"Really? I don't have any money to pay you with...."

"I'll do it, no charge. It is a paladin's job to keep people safe. Teaching you to fight and protect yourself will keep you safe."

A smile broke across my face as I ran to hug the boy. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

The boy stared down at me clinging onto him with wide eyes, like he had never been hugged before, but it didn't take long for him to grow accustomed to the feeling of me in his arms. 

* * *

"What made you decide to teach me back then?" I ask as Casavir and I draw closer to the Blue Palace.

He takes a moment to consider his words. "I...did not feel comfortable leaving a young woman defenseless when she was eager and willing to learn. It did not seem becoming for a man looking to become a sworn protector of the innocent." He pauses briefly before continuing. "And, for the sake of honesty, I couldn't have possibly turned down such a lovely girl. You know how adolescent boys are."

I laugh and see his face light up as he watches me. "Careful, Mr. Paladin. For being sworn to celibacy, you're treading dangerously close to giving a girl the wrong idea."

Casavir's smile drops from his face, and I immediately regret the joke. "If I'm being honest...," he says slowly, "There are times I-"

"Casavir! I see you found your Dragonborn!" A noble woman I recognize from around town approaches us as we enter the gate in front of the palace. 

And so the agonizing small talk begins. Although the ball is being held in celebration of the Emperor's cousin's wedding the next day, no one is immune to the curiosity evidently stirred by the presence of the Dragonborn. Apparently I've gained the reputation of being uninterested in high society despite my wealthy upbringing, preferring the company of rogues and tavern-dwellers as I traverse the province.

Which, uh...oof, guilt as charged.

I half-listen to a man say how excited he is to meet me when I'm snapped back to reality as I process what he's saying. "I was so sad to hear about your parents, you know. We had become pretty good friends over the years. They talked about you so much." 

I blink in confusion. "Wait, what?"

"Yeah, _all_ the time. Now, I'd be lying if I said they weren't disappointed you didn't write more, but they had their ways of keeping tabs on you to make sure you were okay. They were so proud of the life you made for yourself. Said being a mercenary was perfect for you because of you 'strength and spirit of helping others'. If only they were around to see you kill a dragon!"

My mouth opens as I struggle to find words to express what I'm feeling, but all the moisture seems to have evaporated. "Excuse me, I need a drink," I finally choke out, walking away as quickly as I could without running. My hands land on a table lined with bottles of wine and mead that is thankfully sturdy enough to support my weight as I lean forward. 

A large hand presses against the small of my back, and I look up to see Casavir watching me with concern laced in his eyes. "I'm sorry," I whisper. 

He gives me a small smile. "You have nothing to apologize for, my lady. Would you honor me with a dance?" He keeps his hand on my back but extends the other to me. I nod and take his hand.

I'm not used to the feeling of Casavir's body when it's not enveloped in a layer of steel. His hand is softer than I expected it to be, and I can feel the muscles in his shoulder tense when I rest my hand on it to begin dancing. He drawn me close enough for me to feel his chiseled abdomen against me, but he seems to reconsider and back himself up, leaving a larger space between us. The fifteen year old inside of me pouts at the minor feeling of rejection.

"Are you alright, my lady?"

Casavir's soft voice pulls me from my thoughts, and I nod slowly in response. "I just...I thought they would have hated me for running away and never staying in contact. That's how I mad my peace with it. I told myself that I left because I needed to, and if they didn't understand that, then I was better off without them anyways. So hearing that they...didn't hate me, and that they were even _proud_ of me is just...too much. Because that means I cut them off for no reason. And that I hurt them. And now it's too late to fix it."

Tears begin to flow against my will, and Cas momentarily takes his hand from my back to gingerly wipe the wetness under my eye with his thumb. My breath hitches in my throat from the intimate gesture. He seems to have a similar reaction, and I could have sworn he began to lean forward before he moves his hand and clears his throat, the familiar blush returning to his cheeks.

"Apologies, my lady. It is difficult for me to see such a dear friend in this pain. But there is nothing you need to fix. You did what you needed to, and they understood that. You'll see them once more in Sovngarde."

I choke back a sob and nod. Fast as lightning, Casavir presses his lips to my forehead and then removes them. I blink as the kiss registers in my head. "What was that?"

Casavir's eyes are wide, as if shocked by his own action. "Just a...gesture of...comfort and affection between two old friends, my lady. I apologize if it was uncalled for."

Hesitantly, I shake my head. "No, it's fine. Just surprised me is all."

After several songs, I step off the dance floor to get a drink, leaving Casavir to mingle with other guests. I chug as much ale as I can, not nearly drunk enough to deal with this much small talk, when a woman approaches and takes dainty sips of wine. "So you're the one who's taken our favorite paladin's arm," she says, nodding to my partner. 

"Yes. We're old friends from back in Cyrodiil."

"Old friends, huh? So then you know that he's not nearly as noble as people might think?"

I shake my head. "He's the most noble person I know," I say firmly.

"You must not know many noble people then. He may give the impression of an honorable paladin, but apparently a maid found a book under his bed the other day. Something about a certain Argonian maid...."

"Sounds like it's really none of your business," I growl. The woman's eyes widen, and she walks away. "Rude bitch," I mutter under my breath.

"Excuse me?" Casavir's voice behind me makes me jump.

"By the Nine, Cas, give a warning next time!"

He frowns slightly and leans forward, glancing around to make sure no one is in earshot. "As much as I support the worship of Talos, perhaps the Blue Palace, is not a wise place for such exclamations."

"Yeah, probably. But hey, I'm the Dragonborn, and so was Talos. At least I've got a better excuse than a normal person."

Chuckling, he takes my hand in his and leads me away from the drink table. "That you do. If it is alright, I'd like to speak with you away from prying ears." I narrow my eyes in suspicion, but nod, and he guides me down a hall and to an unoccupied room lined with dozens of bookshelves.

"What is it, Cas?"

The paladin takes a deep breath and then looks me in the eye. "I was wondering if you...have thought more about my request to join you?"

I eye him skeptically. "Why do I feel like that's not really what you wanted to talk about?"

"Probably because you know me too well," he says, smiling sheepishly. 

"Well? Out with it then."

A beat passes before he speaks. "I'm in-"

"Oh princess!"

Cas and I both freeze. "Was that Bishop?"

"Sounded like it."

Bishop's voice calls out again. "Oy! Rhiannon! Sir Stick-in-the-Mud! I heard this is the way you came!"

"Bishop?" I call.

The ranger's head pokes around the corner of the doorway. "There you are! First I have to put on this monkey suite to get in, and then I have to go on a scavenger hunt to find you? You're lucky you're worth the trouble."

"What are you doing here?" Casavir and I ask together, me in shock and him in rage. 

"What d'you think? I'm here for the booze, of course. Oh, and you too I guess."

"Bishop, I respect your...dedication to the Dragonborn," Cas says in a strained voice, "But she and I were discussing something. Would you be so kind as to wait for us to finish?"

"Sure, no problem!" Bishop grabs the back of a chair and turns it so he's straddling the back, facing us. 

Casavir's mouth opens in anger, but I put my hand on his shoulder to stop him. "It's sweet that you came, really. But could you wait for us back in the ballroom?"

"Sorry, princess, no can do. I'm not leaving your side until I get a dance."

"This is ridiculous!" Casavir shouts, letting out all of his suppressed anger and jumping to his feet. "I will not allow my evening to be interrupted by your selfishness!"

"Yeesh. Holy Knight's got a bit of a temper problem it seems."

"Enough!" Both men freeze and look at me. "Casavir. If you really believe you're the bigger person here, then by Oblivion, act like it. Bishop, stop. Just. Fucking. Stop. I already told you Cas and I are just friends. I'm not inviting him to travel with us for the sole reason that I value your companionship and don't want you to leave. But by the fucking Nine, let me have this one damn night with my friend! I genuinely think it is so sweet that you went through all this trouble so you could spend time with me, but do _not_ do it if it's just so you can pick a fight or keep me from Casavir."

For a moment, I think Bishop might explode, but then his expression softens, and without a word, he walks out of the room. Cas and I stare at his empty chair while we listen to the sound of his footsteps disappear. A minute passes before we break the silence. 

"I think I was wrong about him, the paladin whipers.

"What do you mean?"

"I've known Bishop a long time. Several years. We've encountered one another many times on my trips to Skyrim. And I know that he would not walk away from that fight unless he truly respected you and your wishes."

I nod at his revelation. "I told you you just didn't know him like I do. And look, about travelling with me-"

"You don't have to explain or apologize, my lady. I understand."

"Alright...so what were you going to tell me?"

I...," he starts, taking a deep breath again. "I...don't remember. It wasn't that important."

"You're a horrible liar."

"My apologies. Lying is not something I am used to," he says, earning a laugh from me. He grins at my laughter. "You look so beautiful," he whispers.

The compliment brings a blush to my cheeks. "You should have said that when I was fifteen. I would have fainted."

"And I would have been there to catch you, my lady," he says, bowing low.

"Ooh, dashing," I tease. "C'mon, let's go dance some more."

Casavir nods, and I turn to leave, but he suddenly speaks again. "I'm in love with you!" 

I stop in my tracks before slowly turning back to him. He looks exactly as he did ten years ago when he offered to teach me. 

"You...what?"

He steps forward tentatively, as if worried he'll scare me off. "I"m in love with you, Rhiannon. I have been since the day we met. I should have never taken my vows."

"If this is a joke, it's not funny," I whisper as he stops in front of me. My eyes lift to meet his, but I'm almost cowering as he towers over me.

"It is no joke, my lady. Do you remember that last night? Before my vows? We camped out in the woods and stayed up all night, talking and watching the stars?" I slowly nod. "I almost told you then. I almost decided not to take the oath. But I was scared, and I didn't want to risk our friendship."

My back straightens, and I glare up at him. "Then why tell me now?"

He gives me a sad smile. "What have I got to lose? We haven't seen each other in four years. I know it is too late for us. I just needed to say it. A day hasn't gone by when you are not in my thoughts, and it eats me alive."

Cool air fills my lungs as I breathe deeply to calm myself down. "I spent our five years of friendship together dreaming about you. The first two years before you took the oath, I waited and waited and waited for you to decide that you couldn't go through with it, that you wanted to be with me instead. Then you did it, and my heart was broken, but I wanted to be happy for you. So I swallowed up all those feelings. And _now_ I find out you felt the same? _Now_ , when it's too late? After I've found someone who _does_ tell me how he feels and makes it clear that he wants to be with me? _This_ is when you decide to tell me?"

Casavir's eyes well up, mirroring my own. "I...had no idea that you felt that way. I am...so deeply sorry, Rhiannon."

"Yeah, well." I shrug and rip my hair out of the loose bun it's in before collapsing back into a chair and then immediately standing back up. "I think I'm going to go. I don't want to be here anymore."

I turn towards the door, but Casavir grabs my wrist. "Wait, please don't go," he pleads, his voice coated in urgency. "I'll give up my vows. I'll do anything, please, I can't lose you again."

"You never lost me to begin with. Shit just kept us busy for awhile. And if you think I want you to give up your oath for me, then you don't know me at all." I take another step, pulling my arm free from his grasp. "I love you, Cas. You're the greatest friend I've ever had. I don't want you out of my life. I just need time to think."

Before I reach the door, Casavir catches my waist and spins me around to face him. His lips are on mind instantly, greedily prying my mouth open and exploring it with his tongue. My arms involuntarily reach up and wrap themselves around his neck to pull him closer. He shifts his hands from my waist to the back of my thighs, lifting me up and pressing me against the door frame when I wrap my legs around his waist like that's where they belong. 

The kissing slows down after a couple of minutes, hunger replaced with tenderness. When Casavir eventually pulls his lips away, he rests his forehead on mine and takes deep breaths. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that." 

"No, I think I've got a pretty good idea," I say, getting a chuckle from him. My feeling of bliss fades as I realize what happened. "Fuck, Cas. We fucked up."

"I know," he says with a frown, stubbornly keeping his head on mine. "Just...let me enjoy this before I have to deal with the consequences."

We stay like that, my legs still around his waist and back against the door frame, for I don't know how long. It's not until we hear voices drift from down the hall that we scramble apart. I help Casavir to straighten his tunic, and he grabs a book before we fall into two chairs and pretend to be reading together. Just in time, too, because right after we open the book, a young couple stumbles into the room, giggling and hanging off of each other. "Oh sorry," one says when they see us, and then they're gone, off to find an unoccupied room.

Casavir groans and buries his face in the book. "This is bad. What in Oblivion have I done?"

"I'm sorry," I say, barely above a whisper.

His hands drop. "Rhiannon, look at me." I obey. "Do _not_ blame yourself. It's my oath, my kiss, my mistake. I shouldn't have made the vows at all if I wasn't entirely sure it's what I wanted." 

I nod and stand up. "I should probably get going. I don't...I don't want for things to go further if I stay."

"I understand, my lady. Just one last thing before you go?" I wait for him to elaborate, but he simply stands and gives me a gentle kiss. "If I am going to forsake my vows for a night, I may as well make the most of it," he says jokingly.

"Oh my sweet summer child. A parting kiss isn't even close to the most you could do to forsake your vows for a night." I laugh and watch all the redness return to his face. "Goodnight, Cas. I'm sorry again," I say with a frown. 

He glides his thumb over my cheek. "You have nothing to apologize for, my dear friend. Sleep well."

With one last kiss, I make my way home. 


	10. As Long As You're Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bishop has a surprise waiting for Rhiannon when she returns from the ball.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is. What you've all been waiting for. The only reason anyone actually reads fanfiction.
> 
> Smut. 
> 
> Keep in mind, I've never written smut before, so if it's awful, I'm open to tips lol   
> Also yes, the chapter title is another Wicked reference. It just seemed to fit, leave me alone.

I try to ignore the discomfort my dress causes me while walking through Solitude. Although admittedly that physical discomfort is nothing compared to the discomfort I feel emotionally. I have not, nor have I ever been, in a committed relationship with Cicero, Bishop, or Casavir. And yet I can't help but feel like I'm somehow being unfaithful to _all_ of them. 

This is such bullshit.

As I approach my home, I hear a muffled voice shout "Fuck!" followed by the sound of running. Bishop cracks open the front door, just barely, and sticks his head through. "You can't come in yet."

I freeze and narrow my eyes at him. "Why?"

"I'm doing a thing, and it's not ready. Gimme like five minutes."

"Bishop, if you're bedding some whore or something, just tell me. I'm really not in the-"

"Aw, how did you know?" he says mockingly. "Shut up and wait, I'm almost done!"

My toe traces lines in the dirt while I wait. Divines, I hate waiting. What in Oblivion is he even doing? If it's something dumb, I'm gonna kill him. 

Finally the door opens. "Ready, princess?"

"I was ready five minutes ago."

He chuckles as he leads me in. Candles have been spread across the shelves and tables, while the candles in the chandeliers have been put out, creating a dim golden glow around the room. The dining table is pushed back against the wall opposite the front door and has a bottle of fine wine, two wine glasses, and a vase filled with flowers resting on it. The space the the dining table usually fills is instead occupied by pretty much every blanket in the house laid out on top of each other and topped with _many_ pillows. 

I blink in shock as I take the scene in. "What's all this for?"

Bishop carefully gauges my reaction. "Oh, well, you know, nothing really." I playfully slap his arm. "Hey! Ugh, fine. Look, I just...wanted to do something special for you. You know, to say that I'm...sorry. Damn, that feels weird! But I'm sorry I can be such an ass, and I'm sorry for trying to take you from Casavir tonight. Now, I know this is no fancy ball, and I'm no knight in shining armor, and when I call you 'princess' it's sarcastically, but...well, it's still something I can do to show you how much you mean to me. So...yeah."

A wide grin spreads across my face. "Have you ever apologized for anything before?" I tease.

"No, why? Did I do it wrong?" We both laugh, and I wrap my arms around his waist and lean my head on his chest, breathing in his scent of leather and forest. 

"Thank you, Bishop. What are all the blankets for?"

"Oh, those? Those are for sex. We're gonna have so much sex."

I snort. "In your dreams, ranger."

"Yes, we do have so much sex in my dreams. That is correct." He pauses and then pulls away. "There's something I want to give to you, too." He slides a ring in the shape of a wolf off of his finger before lifting my hand and placing it on my own finger.

I look between him and my hand. "I've never seen you take it off," I say in awe.

"Yeah, well. I don't have much use for it, and women love trinkets like these, right? Look, ladyship...you're the only woman I've had my eyes on for quite some time. I want you to have it."

I let his words hang in the air for a moment before I lean forward and kiss him gently. When I move to pull away, he grabs the back of my head and deepens the kiss, snaking his other arm around my waist and holding my body as close to his as he can. He breaks away, and I think he may start talking again, but instead, he bends over and flings me over his shoulder to carry me to the makeshift bed. 

"That's cheating," I say in mock anger, stifling my laugh. 

"Not my fault you didn't see it coming." He swings me off with surprising gentleness and settles his body on top of mine before resuming his assault on my lips. His mouth eventually leaves mine and begins kissing its way down my neck until he gets to my collarbone. "You weren't planning on wearing this dress ever again, were you?"

"Uh...not really, why do you-"

To answer the question I couldn't finish asking, Bishop takes hold of either side of my v-shaped neckline and pulls, ripping the dress nearly in half and exposing my breasts and torso. I gasp and reflexively lift my arms to cover myself, but he snatches my wrists and pins them above my head with one of his hands before capturing one of my nipples between his teeth, pulling a deep moan from me. He growls against my breast in response, his teeth vibrating on my nipple as he softly bites down and flicks his tongue over it. His free hand travels down my abdomen and below the rip in my dress until it gingerly makes contact with my clit. My hips buck at the sensation, and Bishop chuckles as he abandons the breast he was playing with to trail kisses down the same path his hand took, pausing only to tear my dress all the way down to the hem. His golden eyes devour the view of my unclothed body before he nibbles at my inner thigh and then tentatively pokes at my nub with his tongue. 

And then he dives in, lapping at my juices and fucking me with his warm tongue. I squirm under him, and he latches onto my thighs to hold me still. Another moan escapes my lips when he catches my clit between his teeth while simultaneously inserting a finger inside of me. His finger curls at my wall as he continues to suck at my clit, building a deep energy inside of my gut until it bursts and I explode around his finger. 

Bishop chuckles again as he sits up and leans over me. “Clean it,” he orders, holding his finger to my mouth. I furrow my brow in confusion at the demand, and he rolls his eyes before he grabs my hair and pulls, making me gasp and taking the opportunity to stick his finger in my open mouth. “Suck.” I follow his instructions and suck on his finger, tasting my own sweetness on him. “Fuck,” he whispers breathlessly as he watches me carefully through lidded eyes.

After a few moments, he pulls out and stands to remove his clothes. My eyes lock onto the view of his large member as it bobs with his movements, and he smirks as he watches me watch him before laying back over me and kissing me deeply. “You ready for this, sweetness?” He strokes his cock slowly, rubbing the tip at my entrance, and I nod and bite my lip to hold back a whimper as he pushes into me, little by little. A growl comes from deep in his throat as he bottoms out, hitting every wall inside of me, almost to the point of pain when he hits my cervix. 

Bishop stills and looks into my eyes before gently caressing my cheek.

And then he pulls out and slams back into me with enough force to slide me backwards on our blankets. I cry out when his cock makes contact with my cervix again, in a mix of both pain and pleasure. He continues to pound into me as the energy in my body begins to build again. What pushes me over the edge is when he pulls away enough to grab my ankles and lift them to place them over his shoulders, putting me at the perfect angle for his throbbing cock to steadily beat against my g-spot. The energy in my core explodes again just as Bishop's orgasm comes as well. Admittedly, a small part of me is disappointed when he pulls out to spill his seed over my belly instead of letting me feel him pulsate inside of me. 

We lay on our backs beside each other, breathing heavily, before Bishop sits up slightly and grabs a rag from underneath the side of the blankets. "You're well-prepared," I say between gulps of air as he chuckles and begins to wipe his semen from me. "And such a gentleman." 

He gives a slight bow after tossing the rag to the side. "Anything for my princess." I giggle, and he flops down beside me and pulls me into his arms. "You really are incredible, you know that?" he says, nuzzling my face with his nose. 

Even after all the time we've spent travelling together, the compliment brings a blush to my cheeks. "You're not so bad yourself."

"I mean it," he says seriously before propping himself up on his elbows and looking down at me. "Princess...Rhiannon...I want you to be mine. No one else's. I mean it when I say you're incredible, and I mean it when I say you're the only one I've had eyes on. I'm yours, ladyship. Be mine."

Three trains of thought dominate my mind. First, the feeling of guilt for kissing Casavir. But that passes quickly enough, drowned out by the other two. Logic and Emotion. Emotion was conflicted, part of it still clinging onto my past feelings for Cas and whatever feelings I had for Cicero, but also fully aware that my feelings for Bishop far surpassed either of them. Then came Logic, and it helped Emotion to release its grip on the past.

I look up into Bishop's amber eyes and nod. "I'm yours." 


	11. An Unfortunate Affair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhiannon completes the first contract leading up to the Emperor and makes an intriguing acquaintance on the way back to the sanctuary. Casavir struggles with his vows and his feelings for Rhiannon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is...a bit different. I didn't intend on making it this way when I started writing it, but it seemed fitting. Here's to hoping it isn't too confusing~

**An Unfortunate Affair Part 1**

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Hold.

"Honored guests-"

Exhale and release.

Vittoria Vici's body collapses like a sack of potatoes, and a scream from one of the wedding guests pierces the air. "The bride has been murdered!" "Vittoria!" "The bride's been shot!"

I stay ducked behind the half-wall surrounding the balcony across from the one Vittoria was giving her speech from while I listen to the chaos unfold below. Careful not to raise myself too high, I slide my formal wear over my armor and creep down the stairs, ditching my temporary bow and sheath of generic steel arrows.

The late bride's husband, Asgeir, is laying her body down on the ground after carrying her down from the balcony, her white dress stained deep red from the puncture wound in her chest. Casavir crouches down and studies the body while the golden glow of restoration magic emanates from his fingers, before he looks up and shakes his head. "It's too late. I'm sorry." Asgeir and the other surrounding loved ones weep, and Cas respectfully backs away. 

"What in Oblivion did I miss?" I say, approaching him. 

He blushes when he sees me, but gives no other acknowledgement of what happened the night before. "The bride was addressing the crowd when she was...," he begins, but trails off as he eyes my clothing and nudges my sleeve, revealing the hidden armor. "Shot.... Where did you come from, my lady?" he asks while glancing around the courtyard. 

"I went around that way," I say, pointing to a side entrance. "I didn't want to get in the way by coming in late."

"And...why are you in armor?"

I narrow my eyes to hide my guilt. I've never been able to lie to Casavir. "I didn't like feeling so vulnerable in just clothing last night. What exactly are you trying to imply, Cas?"

He shakes his head, more at himself than at me. "Nothing. Just on edge, my lady. My apologies."

A guard approaches with my abandoned bow in hand. Looks like I got out of there just in time. "Found this up on that balcony, Sir Casavir. No clues as to who was up there with it. Could have been anyone." Casavir thanks him, and he walks away to inform the other guards. 

"My lady, I was hoping I could have a word with yo on the events of last-"

"Casavir! Dragonborn!" Captain Aldis calls to us. "We could use your help searching for anything or anyone suspicious in the area."

Cas and I both nod before turning back to each other. "We'll talk later, Cas. Promise," I say with a sad smile. "He nods after a moment and climbs the stairs to search the battlements above Castle Dour. 

I make to look like I'm searching the main road of Solitude, and when I'm sure no one's looking, I slink down the back path leading to the docks. Bishop and Karnwyr are waiting for me, as planned. "How'd it go?"

"Vittoria Vici has met a tragic end on the day of her wedding. The killer has not been found," I say with a maniacal grin. 

"How unfortunate." He wraps his arm around my shoulder, and together we head South.

* * *

**An Unfortunate Affair Part 1.5: A Change of Perspective**

The floor down the hall creaks, and my eyes snap open. I close them again, shaking my head at myself. I _must_ sleep. Tomorrow is a big day. It would not be appropriate to appear noticeably exhausted at the Emperor's cousin's wedding. Or even worse, to fall asleep late, oversleep, and be late. 

But I cannot get her off of my mind. Her sweet scent, the way her face turned scarlet when I called her beautiful, the feel of her lips on mine. The feel of my hands on her-

No. I've already made too colossal of a mistake. I will not make it worse by dwelling on the details. 

I sit up and slide into my armor, ignoring the throbbing pressure in my pants. If I cannot sleep, I will begin figuring out how to fix this immediately. 

To my surprise, a priestess in the the Temple of the Divines is still awake and kneeling in front of Mara's altar. She stands as I approach, and I see it's the one named Silana. "Pardon the interruption, my lady," I say with a bow. 

She smiles. "It's quite alright. Do you need something, Sir Casavir?"

"No, my lady. I was unable to sleep, so I came to pray over some things on my mind."

"Would you like counsel from a priest?"

I hesitate. "The things troubling me are...rather embarrassing. And...possibly condemning.

Silana frowns and thinks carefully over her words. "Everyone has their own challenges, and that's what the Divines are for. To guide us through our lives. Whatever the problem is, it's nothing that the compassion of Mara or the wisdom of Julianos or the mercy of Stendarr can't help." 

My breath catches in my throat. "Well...."

After my long talk with Silana, I stare at the ceiling in my room until I hear other begin to wake up and prepare for the day's events. Rhiannon said she will be attending the wedding. I can speak to her about my decision during the celebration afterwards. It will last several days, so there's sure to be plenty of free moments. 

The morning is hectic. After I finish getting ready, I do what I can to help servants set up the courtyard outside of the temple. The ceremony comes and goes in a blur...and still no Rhiannon. Where is she?

Asgeir and Vittoria head to the top of a balcony to address everyone, and I straighten my back to at least appear more attentive. 

"Honored guests-"

In my state of exhaustion, it takes me several moments to process what happens next. Nobody sees the arrow until it's lodged in Vittoria's chest and she crumbles to the floor. I rise to my feet in slow motion, the yells of the crowd sounding distorted in my mind as if I was underwater. Asgeir carries his bride down the steps as he bawls hysterically. 

Maybe there's still a chance. I focus the energy around me to my hands, my restoration magic prepared in case there's any life left to save. But there isn't. I look at Asgeir, who's watching through his tears, and shake my head. "It's too late. I'm sorry."

Words cannot describe my shame. If I hadn't broken my oath, I would have been able to sleep. If I had been able to sleep, I could have reacted faster and possibly saved the poor woman's life. 

I back away to give her loved ones room to grieve while guards frantically search for the killer. "What in Oblivion did I miss?" A familiar voice prompts me to look up and see Rhiannon moving to stand next to me, sunlight causing her auburn hair to glow and her skin to glisten. Heat floods my cheeks as I'm reminded of what we did last night, but I put those thoughts from my mind. Now's not the time. 

"The bride was addressing the crowd when she was...." Is that armor under her dress? I tug her sleeve aside to confirm what I see. What could she possibly need to hide armor for? "Shot," I finish and glance around the courtyard. She couldn't have come from the main entrance without me seeing her. "Where did you come from, my lady?"

"I came around that way," she says, pointing to a side path and turning from me slightly so I can't see her eyes. "I didn't want to get in the way by coming in late."

"And...why are you in armor?"

"I didn't like feeling so vulnerable in just clothing last night. What exactly are you trying to imply, Cas?" She glares up at me, but her eyes flicker left, down, then back up. Just like they do every time she lies.

Impossible. Surely I'm overthinking and paranoid. What reason could Rhiannon possibly have for such a despicable thing? "Nothing. Just on edge, my lady. My apologies."

A guard comes to us with a bow in hand and informs us that he found it on another balcony in the courtyard. When he leaves to tell the others, I turn back to Rhiannon. I can't put it off any longer. "My lady, I was hoping I could have a word with you on the events of last-"

"Casavir! Dragonborn!" For the love of Mara, I only need a few minutes! No, there's more important things happening than my emotional woes. I take a deep breath and accept Captain Aldis' request for us to help search the city. 

"We'll talk later, Cas. Promise." Rhiannon smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes. Why is she so sad? Is that my fault?

No matter. I climb the steps to the top of Castle Dour and begin looking for any path of escape the killer could have taken. I'm met with a bird's eye view of the main street...and see Rhiannon glance around her before creeping down a path I believe leads to the docks.

My instinct is to be suspicious, but I shake myself out of it. She was behaving oddly, sure, but I must know how irrational her being involved with murder like this is. She's probably just looking that way for any clues.

I love her.

Those words have been periodically flowing through my thoughts since last night. I like to believe that I am a patient person, but having to wait to speak with her is agonizing. Oh well. I'm sure we will be able to speak tonight once this chaos has passed. 

* * *

**An Unfortunate Affair Part 2: Electric Boogaloo**

Bishop and I decide to head to Markarth and stay in the Silver-Blood Inn for a night before returning to Falkreath. I'm sure Cas will have convinced himself that me having anything to do with killing Vittoria is ridiculous, but since he was suspicious, I figured it was best to be on the safe side. Part of me feels guilty for leaving when I knew he'd be hoping to talk that evening when things settled down. It's probably easier this way though. I can't stand the thought of sticking around and making things harder on him any more than I already have, especially when I'm committed to Bishop now. It just feels like it would be a cruel game. 

And I'd be lying if I said he wouldn't be tempting to me as well.

I don't think I've ever seen Bishop as happy as he's been since last night. His usual glower seems to have disappeared and been replaced with a grin. Though we've never shied away from sharing kisses to show our affection, he wasn't exactly a hugger. Now though? He hugs me constantly. Every time we make a stop on the road, he tackles me to the ground and just holds me for what feels like ages. Not that I mind. He even falls asleep with me wrapped in his arms, and a lot more quickly than he usually does. I try to free myself enough to turn to my other side, but even in his sleep he refuses to relinquish me for just a moment. Despite the slight discomfort, I fall asleep feeling only contentment. 

We hit the road in the morning and begin the trip to Falkreath. We're almost to the border of the Reach when Bishop swings out his arm, signaling for me to bring Damien to a stop. "Forsworn. But only three. You wanna take them out from here or sneak around?"

I narrow my eyes as I spot them standing around a Shrine of Dibella. "Only three. Interesting."

Suddenly, the one in the middle, a blond man with dark war paint around his eyes, looks up and locks eyes with me, but to my surprise, his eyes lazily drift back to his company, as if completely uninteresed in us.

"Did you see that?" 

Bishop nods. "Never seen a passive Forsworn before. As much as I love a good genocide of the Reachmen, maybe we should leave them be. Seems like it could be a trap."

"If it was a trap, they could have easily started the attack while we've been talking." Curiosity overriding caution, I move forward.

"Princess, what the fuck?" Bishop hisses, coming after me. 

I hop off Damien once I’m close enough to catch bits of the conversation. “-remember any of what Mother taught us? Talk first, stab later,” the blond man says to the woman beside him in a calm, measured voice.   
  
“Greetings, Forsworn,” I say cheerfully as I approach. The woman and brunette man watch me with suspicion, hands flying to their weapons, but the blond man looks almost amused.

”A mysterious woman approaches us at a shrine to the goddess of beauty without her weapon drawn. Are you perhaps a priestess of Dibella? Or is this a clever trap capitalizing on my weakness for attractive women?”

Bishop snarls from behind me, but the man ignores him, his eyes staying locked on mine. “Neither. I’ve never come across Forsworn that wasn’t instantly hostile, so I was curious,” I say.

The man smiles fully now. “My mother would be pleased that her efforts to raise a son who doesn’t attack anyone in sight were not in vain. Most Nords don’t get the chance to discover that.”

I laugh and look back at Bishop, whose hand rests on his old dagger, ready to protect us if need be. “Yeah, I can imagine.”

”Cael,” the woman whispers. “Look at her necklace.” 

The one I’ve been talking to, apparently named Cael, glances down to the dragonbone amulet that I had carved into the shape of a rose resting on my chest, and his eyes widen. “I see. You’re not just any curious traveler.

”You got me,” I see with a nervous laugh. I guess word about me has _really_ gotten around. “If you hear a dragon bellow ‘Dovahkiin’, I was never here.”

Cael chuckles. “I’ve heard about your strength and beauty, Dragonborn, but the stories haven’t done your compassion and wit justice.” Heat rises to my cheeks at the flattery, and I hear Bishop growl. “Allow me to formally introduce myself. I am Cael, Chieftain of the Rudahan tribe.”

”I’m Rhiannon. This is Bishop,” I say, turning to my companion. He gives no reaction, just continues to glare at Cael, who laughs. 

”I see your friend does not share your agreeable nature.”

”Nor do yours.” I nod at the people on either side of him, who have been silently scowling the whole time. 

“Ah yes. I’ve been so captivated by you that I almost forgot.” 

Bishop steps forward and opens his mouth, but I lightly elbow him in the ribs. “Play nice,” I whisper under my breath. 

“This is my sister, Robin, and my dearest friend, Anu. You’ll have to forgive their paranoia. We’ve come across as many friendly Nords as you have friendly Forsworn.”

”I understand. Ulfric Stormcloak didn’t exactly do relations between our people any favors.”

Cael raises an eyebrow at me, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Powerful, beautiful, witty, compassionate, _and_ educated? You’re quite the woman, Dragonborn. Should I take your comment to mean you’re sided with the Empire then?”

I snort, unable to stifle it. “Not in a million years. Ulfric strikes me as more power-hungry than freedom-seeking, sure. The Empire would have a decent chance against the Thalmor if they had a break from the Stormcloak bullshit to build their strength back up, but until that day comes, they’re still in the hands of the Thalmor. No, I’m on my own side.”

”You speak with wisdom I admittedly wouldn’t have expected from a Nord fighter,” he says with a soft smile. “There _is_ another choice, though. You could always fight for true freedom, for a people looking to reclaim their land. Before Ulfric drove us out during the Markarth Incident, we ruled fairly and led the people in a time of peace. We're not the savages people are made to believe. Help us become the rulers we once were."

A frown rests on my face at the end of his proposition. "You generalize Nord warriors, which are arguably most Nords, as being unwise and in your next breath say you can rule fairly? Not a great sales pitch."

Cael bursts out a laugh. "I suppose you're right. My apologies, Dragonborn. We are all prone to our biases and prejudices. Although it may be best for you not to join us at this time anyways. My village is plagued with the attack of another, and I wouldn't want to draw your enemies to us as well. That, and I can't help but compliment you, but I fear if I do it once more, your companion will growl me to death. Be wary, Dragonborn. Jealousy is a vulgar trait."

Oh divines, here it comes.

Bishop laughs and slides past me. "Jealous? Of you? Please! You've got an annoying voice, you can't hold onto your own land, your sister's a whore. What's there to be jealous of?"

"Whoa! Speak about Robin that way, and we'll cut your eyes out," Anu says, finally speaking up. 

"It's just a simple observation. I've seen tavern wenches with more clothes than what the three of you combined have on."

Robin groans in frustration. "Who cares if she's the Dragonborn, Cael? We'd be doing her a favor if we got rid of this moron."

"Enough!" Cael says, the loudest I've heard him. "It was a mistake speaking to you," he says to Bishop before turning to me. "It was an honor to meet you, Dragonborn. Do think about what I said." He grabs his companions by the arms and steers them away from the road and into the wilderness.

"Sorry for chasing away your boyfriend, princess," Bishop says through clenched teeth. He turns on his heel and begins to storm off, but I snatch his arm to stop him. 

"I'm not stupid, Bishop. I know what he wanted and that I wasn't going to give it to him. I just wanted to talk to a Forsworn without them trying to kill me."

"Oh yeah? If you're so smart, then go ahead, tell me what he wanted. I'll wait."

I blink in shock at him. "You really don't think I'm smart, do you? What, do you think I'm just some foolish girl that's gonna let a little flattery cloud her judgment?"

Bishop rolls his eyes. "Of course I know you're intelligent, Rhiannon, that's not what I meant. I just think you have a tendency to be too trusting," he says, choosing his words carefully.

"Says the man that doesn't trust anyone."

"I'm still alive because I don't trust anyone!"

"Oh, give it a rest, Bishop. Why do you have to be so angsty all the time?"

To my surprise, Bishop laughs, a genuine laugh, and I crack a smile too. "I'm not angsty. You just don't appreciate how cool and tragic I am."

I snort and wrap my arms around his waist. "You're a fucking loser."

"Okay, now that's just mean," he says, chuckling into my hair.

"I know you care about me. But you need to remember that I _can_ take care of myself."

"You silly girl," Bishop mumbles. "You have no idea how I feel."

"Then tell me."

"Nah."

I pull out of the hug and smack him on the arm. "You're an ass, and that was quite a detour. Let's get going."

"Fine. Do you know who the next target is?"

I shake my head as I mount Damien. "Nobody tells me anything. Hopefully it'll be as easy as Vittoria. Other than Cas being a little suspicious, it was a piece of cake."

"Casavir is suspicious of everything, but he'd never be able to accuse _you_ of something like this, even if he had the proof in front of him."

"I wouldn't go that far, but maybe. I've never successfully lied to him, though. I'm surprised he believed me this time."

Bishop nods knowingly. "You have a tell."

"Excuse me?"

"A tell. An involuntary reaction that gives away when you lie. You're a good liar, ladyship, but not flawless."

"What's my tell then?"

"I'm not telling you," he says with a laugh. "How am I supposed to know you're lying if I tell you and you suppress it?"

We bicker and chat the rest of the way to Falkreath, where we arrive in the early evening. Astrid already heard the news about the wedding and is thrilled, giving us a hefty sum of gold along with a conjuration spell that summons the spirit of a deceased Dark Brotherhood assassin. Gabriella, one of our sisters, fills me in on the next target, a Penitus Oculatus agent that will be reviewing the security of every hold prior to the Emperor's visit, which will definitely be happening now, according to our sources. I'm to kill him, preferably in a city instead of while travelling, and plat a letter on him to make it look like _he_ was plotting o kill the Emperor. 

Easy enough. 


	12. Heavy in Your Arms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhiannon, unable to sleep back at the Sanctuary, goes to chat with Cicero, who's feeling a bit...off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it's been awhile since I've posted. I'm a teacher and have been busy with getting ready for the new school year. I've also been a little bit nervous about this chapter because uhh
> 
> RAPE/NON-CON WARNING
> 
> I know I put that in the warnings above the tags, so hopefully if you've made it this far that means you were already aware that I was planning on including it eventually and you're alright with it, but I figured I'd put it here too, just in case. If there's anyone that wants to skip over this chapter but continue reading, I'll put a vague summary at the end if that helps at all. 
> 
> https://youtu.be/SK6U4FiAoAs Heavy in Your Arms- Florence + the Machine

The Sanctuary is still and silent. Bishop fell asleep early again, but thoughts run through my mind too fervently for me to join him. I finally get up and begin to wander around the Sanctuary, careful not to wake the others. I thought everyone was already in bed, but as I walk, I begin to hear a voice singing softly until I track it to Cicero's room. Unsurprisingly, 

He sits at his table facing the wall as he finishes the haunting melody and turns to face me. "Sorry, I didn't mean to intrude."

"Pish posh! Sweet Rhiannon could never intrude on me. No matter what I'm doing," he adds with a crooked grin that makes me roll my eyes as I sit in my usual chair across from him and plop my feet on the table. 

"How have things been around here?"

The jester shrugs. "Astrid is Astrid. The sheepdog is the sheepdog. The vampire feeds. The wizard casts."

"And the Fool of Hearts?"

His deep chestnut eyes are cloaked in shadow cast by the candlelight, and I can't help but wonder if that was intentional. "The Fool of Hearts is...distracted," he says slowly.

My brows furrow together. "Distracted by what?"

Cicero chuckles. "Silly Rhiannon, asking questions she knows the answer to."

"I really don't," I say, narrowing my eyes. 

Light floods his face as he leans forward with the most heartbreaking frown. "Yes. You do."

Realization hits me, and I shake my head. "Cicero, I-"

He holds up a gloved hand to stop me. "You don't need to say anything. I know you love him."

I blink, not expecting to hear _that_ , and open my mouth to speak, but I choke on air for a moment before I can get the words out. "I don't.... That's just...that's madness! It's ridiculous! Why would you even.... By Sithis, Cicero, I...." I trail off, unable to keep my mind straight enough to form words. A frustrated groan comes from my throat, and I bury my head in my arms on the table. "This is bullshit."

A chuckle comes from across the table, and that chuckle becomes a full laugh, causing me to look up just in time to see him bound towards me. I jump a bit at his quick movement and squint at the tankard in his hand that he's holding out to me. "Drink?" he asks sweetly.

Weird, but not uncommon for the fool. I nod and take the drink, and my mouth snaps as I try to place the familiar taste accompanying the bitter ale. "Is that...canis root? I've used that to fortify my archery before. And what's that other taste?" I take another gulp. "It tastes good."

Cicero chuckles again, his eyes shrouded once more. "Imp stool and netch jelly," he says quietly. 

I quirk my head to the side. "Wait, is this a potion? I thought it was ale."

"It is," he insists. "A special kind from Elsweyr. It's good, isn't it?"

I drink again, taking a big sip. "Yeah, it's-"

In an instant, my voice freezes mid-sentence. I feel my face try to frown, but it's stuck in place. The almost empty tankard slips from my grasp as my fingers twitch and eventually still.

"Well, the ale is from Elsweyr. The paralysis potion I added to it is clever Cicero's own doing. I'm so very glad sweet Rhiannon enjoys it!" My heart rate is through the roof as Cicero steps forward and places a hand on my shoulder before painfully jabbing two fingers into a pressure point on the crook of my neck. My body collapses on itself like a rag doll, but Cicero catches me before I slide from my chair to the ground. "Up you go! Aaaaand now back down." He gently lays me across his bed on my stomach, and panic has fully set in. All I'm wearing is one of Bishop's tunics and a pair of braies I had fitted to me, but can feel the tunic riding up and exposing my back. I try to call for Bishop or roll away, but the only parts of me that function are my mind, my lungs, my senses, and my heart, the latter of which is thumping wildly against my ribs. 

"Tell me you want me to stop, Listener. Tell me, and I'll stop." Cicero's voice is almost unrecognizable in its gruffness. I try my hardest to obey, screaming in my head for him to stop, but all that either of us are met with is silence. "Well, if the Listener insists!" 

A sob bubbles up from my throat but dissipates before escaping my lips as Cicero takes hold of the hem of my braies and yanks them down to my ankles, freeing my backside. Every fiber of my being aches as I pour all my effort into an attempt to crawl away, but of course, not an inch of me moves. I hear Cicero hum in delight behind me before I feel his hand on my bottom, his fingertips tenderly caressing my my skin, barely making contact. And then it's gone. There's a glimmer of hope in me that he's changed his mind and stopped whatever he planned to do, but then I feel a powerful smack that's bound to leave a mark. He wasn't holding back. 

Cicero's moves behind me, whispering softly. Whether it was to himself or to me, I'm unsure. "This is what poor Rhiannon gets," I catch from him. He sounds almost sad. "What she deserves. Can't she _see_? _Well_? Foolish...." Before I'm prepared, my bottom is hit again, this hit much more painful than the last and with some sort of whip or rod or something. I feel a silent squeal inside of me, and whatever Cicero is using comes down on me once more. I'm given a moment to breathe deeply before three more smacks land in quick succession. "Do you understand yet? The Listener listens, yes? Listen to what I'm telling you! _Stop. Leaving. Me. Alone!"_ He hisses his words, no doubt stopping himself from screaming them, and each of the last words are stated firmly with more sharp spanks. If I wasn't paralyzed, I would probably be screaming. There's only so much I can take, and even now, darkness begins to creep around the edges of my vision as my body teeters on the edge of consciousness. I will it to happen, to let myself be held by the darkness until this passes, but apparently I'm too stubborn for my own good. 

"Hmph." I can hear Cicero mumbling, but I can't process what he's saying. I'm barely aware of the sound of rustling fabric until soft hands roughly flip me over by hips. My hair covers my face, but Cicero brushes it aside, revealing himself to me. His unclothed lean body hovers over me, red hair wildly framing his face, and an unnerving grin is plastered on his face, his lips cruelly curved up as he pushes the hem of Bishop's tunic to my shoulders and drinks in the view of my body. I try my best to communicate my pain to him with my eyes, but he makes a point of avoiding eye contact as he moves forward, and I realize I can feel his thick member at my entrance, slowly pressing in. Cicero moans as he breaks through, his moan slowly turning into a chilling laugh. 

* * *

“Mommy?”

My mother stifles her sob and hurriedly wipes her eyes with her sleeve. "Hello, my love, do you need something?"

"Terryn's awake and was asking for you. He says his legs are hurting again, but he doesn't want the healing potion Jala is trying to give him. Why are you crying?"

Wetness shines on her cheeks as she beckons me towards her with a soft smile. My small feet pat across the floor of Silian Manor's master bedroom, and she pulls me into a tight hug. "The world is a cold place," she whispers, gently stroking my hair. "People are capable of terrible things. Sometimes these things can hurt you for a long, long time. I was just thinking about something that hurt me a long time ago. It's nothing for you to worry about. And besides, your hugs make the world a little warmer."

"How did you get hurt, mama?" 

My mother sighs, pulling away from me and studying my face for moment, her deep brown eyes searching mine. "I'll tell you one day, my love. It's not a story for children. Now let's go see what Terryn needs, hm?"

I take my mother's hand, and we walk towards the door. "Mama?"

"Yes, my love?"

"How do you stop someone from hurting you?"

She comes to an immediate halt and stays silent for what feels like an eternity before crouching down to my level. "Everyone gets hurt sometimes. You can't avoid all pain. Just...live your life the best that you can, but be prepared to guard yourself. A life without trust is no life at all, but trusting too easily can be dangerous. That may not make much sense now. It's something you learn with experience."

"Can't I just kill anyone that hurts me?"

She snorts. "I suppose that's one way to handle it. But remember, that may not solve the problem, and it will always have consequences."

I think about this for a moment before shrugging. "So does letting them live."

"I guess you're right," she says with a laugh, but the smile quickly disappears. "Listen...if someone...is hurting you, and you can't stop them...try to think of something else. Think of something that makes you happy, or replay a memory, or tell the story of your favorite book in your head. Anything to distract yourself. Do you understand, my love?"

"I guess."

"Good. Now to Terryn."

* * *

My memory is interrupted by the feeling of Cicero's hands wrapped tightly around my throat as he finishes. Everything begins to go black, but I still don't fully lose consciousness. Cicero hums to himself as he jumps off of me and gets dressed like nothing happened and dances out of the room. Fucking psycho. I'm still paralyzed on the bed for several minutes before i feel my fingers begin to twitch, and slowly I'm able to slide onto the ground and eventually stand.

Where in Oblivion did the lunatic go? I creep down the hall until I get to Bishop, and that's when I finally begin to cry. 

"Bishop, wake up," I whisper, shaking him.

"Hm?"

"Bishop, we have to get out of here, get up," I say. My voice is beginning to tremble. 

Bishop's eyes slowly open. "Rhiannon? What's going on?" 

"There's no time. Grab your things."

"What are you talking about?"

I roll my teary eyes and begin gathering up as much of our things as I can carry, fumbling around as the post-adrenaline panic sets in. Still half asleep, Bishop rubs his eyes and begins to help me, finally registering my hysteria. I seize his hand once our things are packed and lead him through the Sanctuary towards the door, navigating the best I can with my blurry vision. The sound of Bishop pleading with me to stop and tell him what happened floods my ears, but I don't stop running until we're outside, where I drop to my knees and vomit into a patch of Nightshade while he reflexively holds my hair back.

"Rhiannon," he whispers, sounding horrified. "What happened?"

I look up at Bishop and see the fear laced in his eyes. My mouth opens to speak, but no words come out. He growls in frustration. "Fine then, I'll go investigate myself!"

He stands to go back inside, but I grab his wrist and let out a sob. "Please don't leave," I cry.

Bishop's eyes widen, and he crouches down next to me and takes my hand in both of his. He's never seen me like this before. "Tell me what happened," he orders, but his eyes are soft and caring.

"H-he...C-Cicero..." I choke on another sob and shift from my knees to my bottom, wincing slightly at the pain and curling my legs against my chest.

"Did he hurt you?" I slowly nod. Bishop stays silent for a moment before rising to his feet. "I'm gonna kill him."

"No." I somehow manage to put an end to my crying and keep my voice steady and firm, albeit hoarse, as I shakily stand as well. "I'm going to. Just not right now. Let's get a room at The Dead Man's Drink in town. 

Bishop's hands are balled into fists at his sides, and he vibrates, practically to the point of glowing, with rage. "That son of a bitch doesn't deserve to be alive another second! He hurt you. I'm going to kill him."

"Bishop. I _want_ to do it. Just. Not. Now." The ranger glares at me, refusing to concede. "What did you tell Cas? About me defending my own honor? Cicero...violated me. I'm going to be the one to finish him." Finally, Bishop closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before nodding. "Thank you. Dead Man's Drink?"

Before I can finish, he steps forward and envelopes me in his arms, squeezing me so tightly I almost can't breathe. "I'm so sorry I didn't protect you," he says into my hair with a quivering voice. "I'm so, so sorry."

I sigh and lean into him. "Everyone gets hurt sometimes," I say quietly.

"That's not good enough."

When he eventually releases me, we make our way into town, the horses and Karnwyr following behind us. Bishop's knife stays firmly in one hand, my hand in the other, and his head whips around every few seconds to check our surroundings. His hand doesn't leave me until we're in a room in the inn, and he removes it to push the small dresser in front of the closed door. 

"Is that really necessary?"

"Yes," he snaps back instantly.

I roll my eyes and sit on the bed, only to wince and immediately jump back up with a whimper. "What is it?" Bishop asks, rushing to my side.

"It...hurts."

Bishop raises a brow at me and begins to help me out of my clothing, pausing every time he sees me flinch. When he gets my braies off, all the color drains from his face. "He did this to you?" I nod, not trusting my voice while tears stream down my face. His desire to flee the room and beat Cicero to death himself is tangible, but he simple fumes and goes to the wash basin in the room. "It needs to be cleaned or it will get infected. "I don't need to ask what he's referring to. I can feel the lashes from Cicero's whip on my bottom, bloody and raw. "I'm not gonna sugar-coat it, princess. This is going to sting. A lot. It's Big Tough Dragon Girl time, got it?" I nod again, eyes squeezed shut. 

It does sting. A lot.

He finishes cleaning and dressing my wounds as quickly as he can while still being thorough, and then he hands me a healing potion for good measure. I silently sob, and he grabs me and holds me to his chest, muttering something repeatedly. It's not until I calm down that I can hear what it is- "I'm sorry." I look up and see the tear tracks on his cheeks. "My eyes were sweaty," he says, scrubbing his cheeks with his sleeve. 

"Sure they were." The corners of my mouth turn up. 

"There's a smile, princess," he says in a soft voice before wiping my tears away too. His eyes narrow, and he opens his mouth, only to close it again a moment later.

"What?"

"What? Oh, nothing. I don't know." He lays down on the bed and opens his arms for me to join him. I accept the invitation, but only because my bottom is hurting from sitting on it again. "Tell me," I say against his chest.

He sighs, stroking my hair. "It's not the time, princess."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's not the time for what I want to say. I'll tell you later, don't worry about it."

"That just makes me want to know more," I mumble as my eyelids begin to droop. 

"Shh," he whispers. "Go to sleep, princess."

I feel myself drift off at his command, but I could swear I heard him say something else, barely audible, just before I, at long last, lose consciousness. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SUMMARY: Cicero takes advantage of Rhiannon. She grabs Bishop and flees the Sanctuary, and Bishop helps take care of her.


	13. Everybody Wants to Rule the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhiannon and Bishop travel to Windhelm, still struggling with the encounter with Cicero. They're hopeful that they will have a chance to rest before it's time for the next contract. The Divines have other plans.

The first thing I see when I awaken is my hand resting on Bishop's gently heaving chest. For just a moment, I'm given the luxury of forgetting last night's events and thinking it's a regular morning. Then the soreness sets in, and I let out an involuntary groan.

"Morning, sweetness." My head shifts until Bishop's face is in view, his eyes cloudy and bloodshot, and he gives me a strained smile.

"Did you sleep at all?"

"Sleep? Sure, I think I blinked once or twice."

"That doesn't count, you ass. We're not in any rush to get out of here. Go to sleep. I'll keep watch if that makes you feel better."

Bishop raises a brow. "That's where you're wrong, ladyship," he says, nudging my arm and sitting up. "We're absolutely in a rush to get out of here. I don't want to be within fifty miles of the fool another minute until you're ready to obliterate him, otherwise I might beat you to it. Besides, Maro heads out of Dragon Bridge tomorrow morning, remember? We gotta get our hands on his schedule before then so we can follow him if we're not able to. Now get up so I can check on you and switch out your bandages before we go."

Penitus Oculatus agents go to and from their outpost, some hanging around outside, even as dusk falls. "They must be busy preparing for the Emperor," Bishop says with a shrug after I curse under my breath while we watch.

I narrow my eyes, thoughts flying through my head. Following Maro to a city would be horrible because if he or anyone else noticed, we become suspects. My sight is drawn to two men stuumbling out of the inn across the road, and inspiration hits me square in the face. "Alright, I've got an idea," I say, looking back to Bishop, only to see his concerned expression. "What?"

He sighs. "Maybe you should stay here, ladyship. Or better yet, go get us a room in the inn. 

My eyes roll back into my skull. "Uh-uh. No way you're gonna start treating me like a child or some treasure to protect because of last night. I'm _fine_ , Bishop. Big Tough Dragon Girl, remember?"

"I only meant that while I was cleaning your wounds," he grumbles.

I pout mockingly. "You don't think I'm a Big Tough Dragon Girl?"

Bishop growls and turns away. "Put that lip away before I bite it."

I grin in triumph and ignore the stabbing feeling in my chest. He hasn't said anything about it, but I can tell he's been holding back all day. I appreciate it, because I don't think I can emotionally (or physically) handle anything sexual right now. But at the same time, I feel...guilty. 

"Alright, princess, what's this plan of yours?"

"You remember that night you drank all that pirate guy's rum?"

"Not really, but go on."

Not much later, we stumble into a room at the inn, continuing pretending to be drunk travelers until the door is safely closed behind us, and Bishop pulls the stolen schedule from his pocket. "He'll be in Windhelm on Tirdas," he reads.

"Excellent, that's plenty of time. Head out in the morning?"

Karnwyr laps at Bishop's fingers while the ranger nods absentmindedly. "Sure, that's fine."

"Where's your head, Bishop?"

"On my shoulders, princess, or at least it should be," he said with a small smile, feeling up his neck and head to check.

I roll my eyes. "You know what I mean. What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing important. Let's check those lashes."

"Not until you tell me," I say stubbornly, backing up against the wall. 

"You're such a child."

"I know you are, but what am I?"

A grin cracks through his scowl. "You got me there." He sighs deeply and sits on the bed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Why are we doing this?" he asks, standing back up. "Killing Maro. Killing the Emperor. _Not_ killing Cicero. The Dark Brotherhood hasn't done a damn thing for you! Ad yet not only have you risked your neck for them more times then I can count, but now you've been RAPED by one of them!" 

Bishop freezes, and both of us widen our eyes in shock at his words. Well, one word in particular. Up until this point, we've danced very carefully around using it, as part of an unspoken agreement. Accurate or not, it's too much to bare.

But when the shock and pain passes, I only sigh and give him a shrug as I take his abandoned seat on the bed. "I'm the Listener. It's my duty."

"Oh, horse shit. If you cared about duty, you'd go get that horn or flute or whatever it was the old guys wanted you to get, or you'd go hunt dragons. Sure, you kill them if we happen across them, but that doesn't exactly match the job description for 'Dragonborn'."

I lower my eyes. "You're right. But the difference is, I chose this path. I didn't choose to be Dragonborn, but I did choose to join the Dark Brotherhood."

"And you can choose to leave it, too," he says, kneeling down in front of me and taking my hands in his. His lips glide gently over my knuckles, and his eyes darken in a way that's become all too familiar to me. "How are you feeling?"

The feeling of guilt returns. "Physically? Better, thanks to you and the healing potions. Emotionally?" I shrug. Bishop nods slowly, and I fight off another stab of guilt. "I'm sorry," I whisper, looking down at our hands.

But then one of his hands leaves mine and shoots up to my chin, tilting my face so I meet his eyes. "Do _not_ apologize for what happened. It is _not_ your fault, and you have _nothing_ to say sorry for I'm not sticking around with you because of the sex. If you're not ready, there's no pressure." He gives me a reassuring smile before he adds, "If there's anything you can apologize for, it's not letting me butcher the psycho when it happened."

My eyes narrow. "I want to do it myself. I _have_ to do it myself."

"Why do you 'have' to?"

I groan as I struggle to find the words. "Cicero and I have been close since the moment we met. It was...somewhat romantic at first? But then I met you and decided...well, that I only wanted you. But even without the romantic feelings, Cicero and I were still close, as I'm sure you noticed. We just have this...connection. And I feel like...if anyone else killed him, I would feel almost resentful towards them. Even after what he's done, that connection is still there, and I have to be the one to sever it. Does that make any sense?"

Bishop scratches the back of his head while frowning. "Not really. But I'm sure it does for you, and I'll accept that. I trust you. You know how important that is to me. And it means I'll trust you always, not just when it's convenient."

I'm not sure when I started crying, but apparently I did, and Bishop tenderly wipes a tear off my cheek with his thumb. "Thank you, Bishop."

"Don't mention it. Really, don't. If word gets around that I have a soft spot, I'll be ruined."

I chuckle and pull him into a tight hug before turning my head to kiss his cheek. We both fall asleep quickly that night, almost content. Almost.

"What in Oblivion is going on up there?" Bishop nods his head towards the upstairs area of Candlehearth Hall. The sound of a large crowd cheering is pretty hard to miss.

I shrug and approach the innkeeper, Elda. "Excuse me? We'd like a room for four nights, please." Elda nods and trades my gold for a room key before pointing us to our room. "Thank you. Is there some event going on upstairs or something?"

"More or less. Some bigshot Imperial bard's in town to play for nobles tomorrow night. He asked he could play here tonight for us...less privileged."

"That's peon speak for peons," Bishop mutters into my ear, and I playfully elbow him in the gut, trying to fight the urge to laugh. 

"Interesting. Thanks." Bishop and I head upstairs for the sake of the titular hearth, praying the bard doesn't suck.

"Yup. He sucks," Bishop says as we hear him begin to recite the lyrics to The Dragonborn Comes. No, not sing. Literally just speaking the lyrics.

"It feels like someone's trying to scoop my brains out through my ears using scalpels."

By the time the bard's done and announces the end of his set, we're debating on whether tundra cotton or wool would be more effective at blocking sound. And that's when I look up just in time to see his eyes meet mine and then lock onto my dragonbone amulet. "Fuck." I scramble to tuck it into my blouse, but the damage is done. His eyes grow wide, and he shimmies his way between patrons and stops at mine and Bishop's table in the corner.

"Pardon me, my lady. I couldn't help but notice your amulet. Do I have the honor of speaking to the Dragonborn?"

He couldn't have asked that any quieter? "No no. No no no. Shush," I answer quickly, blushing as the eyes of every person in the inn turn towards me. 

"By the Divines! It is delightful to be standing in your presence, Dragonborn!"

"I never said I was Dra-"

The bard turns to face the crowd, and I bury my head in my arms. "Today we witness a living legend among us- none other than the Dragonborn herself! Our hero, our hero, who indeed did claim this warrior's heart. I told you, I told you, and the Dragonborn came!"

"This living legend needs a stronger drink," I say, chugging the remainder of my ale. 

"Kind of playing it fast and loose with the word 'warrior, huh?" Bishop says, causing me to snort. 

The bard either didn't hear him or is choosing to ignore it. "Allow me to introduce myself," he says with a bow. "My name is Alec. I'm known as the Prince of Song. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Is that a self-given title or...?" 

That time, Alec definitely heard Bishop's quip, shooting him an annoyed look before smiling back at me. "I have spent so much time studying your adventures. From your recorded mercenary work in Cyrodiil, to the terrors of Helgen and your endless eradication of the dragon menace."

"You know she's only killed like five dragons, right?"

"Hey, it's seven."

Alec's eye twitches as he continues. "You are our hero. Your strength and humility brings hope to every heart in Skyrim. We bards sing your songs so that our children's children may remember the glory of the Dragonborn, savior of Tamriel!"

Scattered applause breaks, and I grab the arm of a barmaid coming to collect my empty tankard. "Bring me three more of your strongest stuff, for the love of Mara," I whisper.

"Though, meeting you, I see that the many accounts of your beauty have not done you the justice you deserve."

Alec snatches my hand from the table and plants his lips on my knuckles. Bishop makes to stand, but I kick at his shin before ripping my own hand away. "That's very kind, Alec. How many times did you have to rehearse it before it sounded flattering enough?" Bishop is the one to snort this time, and Alec's eye twitches again.

"Apologies, my lady, if it sounded rehearsed. I speak only the truth. You are truly inspiring, a beautiful muse for the beating heart of this musician. Please, you _must_ come to my performance tomorrow night. I would be delighted for you to be my guest."

I take a deep breath and rub my temples. "Look, Alec, I...appreciate the invitation, but I'm really not interested in being a showcase to advertise your concert with, let alone being showcased right _now_. So sorry, but I think I'm gonna sit this one out." 

The bard furrows his brow. "I apologize. It wasn't my intention to...showcase you. You're just such an inspiration to me and my music, I got a little carried away. My sincerest apologies, my lady. I would be honored to perform for you, though. If there's any chance for you to change your mind, the invitation still stands."

My eyes go from Alec to Bishop, who's glaring at the bard unblinkingly, no doubt daring him to meet his eyes. A smirk slowly creeps onto my face. "Well, I suppose we can make an appearance."

Bishop snaps to attention and turns to me. Alec on the other hand is ecstatic...at first. "Oh, thank you, my muse! I am- wait, 'we'?"

"Yes, of course. Oh! How rude of me! I forgot to introduce you to my companion. This is Bishop."

Understanding dawns on Bishop's face, but I can tell he's still annoyed. Alec's eyes are as wide as Masser as his brain fries itself trying to think of a response. "Uh...my lady, with all due respect, I'm not sure your...companion would...be comfortable at this sort of formal even."

I shrug. "He cleans up nicely. Besides, he's my bodyguard. You wouldn't deprive me of protection, would you?" I ask, feigning shock. A few of the patrons that are still watching chuckle.

"No, of course not! I just...." Alec's back stiffens, and he clears his throat. "I don't think his brutish comments belong at my performance," he says firmly. 

"Hey look, he _does_ have a spine!"

I shoot Bishop a warning glance, and he nods back reluctantly. "I'll promise to reel him in. On the condition that you promise not to use my title to advertise yourself and your performance." Alec bites his lip hesitantly. "You really shouldn't judge him before you get to know him. He can be civil."

For the first time, Alec gives me a genuine smile. "And there's the compassion I've heard so much about. Very well. As long as you keep him civil, your...friend may come. And I swear on the Divines that no one will hear of your presence until the moment they see you there."

I narrow my eyes. "Except for the dozen people here now along with everyone they tell?"

Alec smiles sheepishly. "There's not exactly anything I can do about that. But I vow not to use you to promote the concert in any way." I nod, he says his goodbyes, and we go our separate ways.

The bed creaks as Bishop flops onto it. "Ugh, why are you roping me into this shit exactly?"

"If he sticks to his word, then for the free booze. If he doesn't, then he'll get the chance to be taught a lesson when I let you loose on him. Plus still free booze."

A devilish grin spreads on Bishop's face. "You're pretty evil, you know that, princess?"

"I literally kill people on behalf of a Daedric Prince for gold, but sure, me wanting to fuck with a douchebag is what makes me evil."

Bishop laughs and pulls me onto the bed, wrapping me in his arms and placing a gentle kiss on my temple. "How are you holding up, sweetness?"

I sigh and bury my head in the crook of his neck. "I'm alright. Just still...hurt."

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I wish there was more I could do to help."

"You being with me is enough," I say, leaning my head up to kiss his jawline. 

"Ready to go?"

"Almost, hang on." Bishop chugs down the rest of his drink, cringing at the strength. "Okay, now I'm ready. I got two makeshift earplugs made from tundra cotton and two from wool. I'm gonna put cotton in one ear and wool in the other to see which works best, then I'll use that set. You can use whichever is worse since it's your fault we're going."

I roll my eyes. "Alright, professor. Let's go, we're running late."

The walk from Candlehearth to the Palace of Kings is short, but the intolerable cold sets a chill deep in my bones, causing my teeth to chatter by the time we get inside. Bishop snickers at my misery but wraps a warm arm around my waist and pulls me close enough to siphon heat from him.

"Dragonborn!" A woman in fine clothing approaches us, and dozens of pairs of eyes snap in my direction at the call. "It is an honor to have you. I'll show you to your seats." She leads us to the very front of the room where a large ornate chair is centered in front of the stage, and a small wooden chair sits next to it.

"Not very subtle, is he?" Bishop says under his breath.

A man looking very uncomfortable and out of place steps in front of my seat. "Dragonborn? Did I hear that right?"

"Depends. Who's asking?"

The man smiles and awkwardly bows. "I'm Jorleif, Jarl Ulfric's steward. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise."

"You know, the Jarl heard rumors you were in the city and expressed interest in meeting you."

"Oh, uh...." Bishop and I exchange a wide-eyed look before I turn back to the steward with an apologetic smile. "He's not gonna try to recruit me, is he? Because I'm really not interested in getting involved in this war."

Jorleif laughs. "Well, I can't make any promises, but I'll be sure to mention it to him." 

I let out a puff of air. "Alright. When's a good time to stop by? I'll be in town until Tirdas."

"I'll send word when we choose a time. You're staying at Candlehearth I assume, yes?" I nod. "Excellent. We'll be in touch," he says as the usher announces that the show is about to begin.

Alec takes the stage, warm and welcoming, and plays through his songs. When he's actually singing, he has an admittedly lovely voice. Other than the discomfort of being front and center, most of the concert is almost enjoyable. It's not until just before the final song that it takes a turn for the worse.

"I want to thank you all again for venturing out on this cold night to witness the one, the great, Alec, Prince of Song!" I internally groan, and Bishop externally groans. "I wish to dedicate this final song to someone very special to me." My eyes grow large. Don't do this.... "She is the most inspiring, beautiful woman I have ever met, and I have a song in my heart I must sing to her. So this is to you, Rhiannon, Savior of Tamriel. To...the Dragonborn!" 

The next several minutes are quite possibly the most excruciating of my life. It's a love song, because of fucking course it is. Some highlights include "Cure my eternal loneliness," "Let me love you, let me hold you, I will never let you go," and "Let me dream of you and me for all eternity."

I give it a three out of ten.

It finally ends, and Alec begins to make his way off the stage as the applause fades. "So, uh, I'm allowed to give him shit, yeah?" Bishop asks.

"Gods yes. But me first."

"My muse! Did you enjoy the show?" I open my mouth, but Alec continues. "Dine with me tonight, my lady! I wish to sing to you more and hear all of your wonderful stories from the road. We can spend an unforgettable night together!" He takes both of my hands in his as he speaks, and Bishop looks like he's about to have an aneurysm. 

I rip my hands from his. "You know, I really expected you to break our deal and spread the news that I was coming. Thank you for not doing that."

Alec smiles and gives me a deep bow, and before he can straighten back up, my knee connects with his face. "I told you I don't like being showcased," I say as he groans in pain and clutches at his bleeding nose. "Only agreeing to some conditions of that in order to still put me on display without breaking your word is still disrespectful and rude, especially when you essentially proposition me in front of an audience. You sing about love, but you barely know me and clearly don't respect me. You don't want me. You want clout. Let's go, Bishop."

As I turn on my heel and walk away, I hear Bishop say, "Well, I was gonna add on, but uh, seems like she covered all the bases. You'll want to ice that nose." Bishop jogs to catch up with me. "Damn, sweetness. That was ruthless. Pretty hot. 

"Pompous bitch deserved it." Both of us simultaneously snatch up several bottles of liquor each as we pass between two tables stocked with them and other audience members shuffle out of our way. "I can't stand people like that. Everything he says is a line, everything he does is a show. There's no depth, no soul, no heart. I still can't fucking believe he tried singing me a love song when he can't even respect me enough to not put me on the spot like that."

"If he could at least bother to be talented it would be better. I'd sing about you myself if it got him to shut up." 

"I'd pay to see that. Do a duet with Karnwyr or no sex ever again."

"Whoa whoa whoa! No need to get rash."

Bishop's tongue is in my mouth the next morning when there's a knock on the door. "Sh, if we ignore them, they'll fuck off," he says, pulling me back down when I move to answer it.

I give him one more kiss before slipping out of his reach. "It could be someone coming from the Jarl, and I don't want to keep them waiting,"

The door opens to reveal a dejected-looking Alec sporting a broken-looking nose. "Good morning, my lady. May I have a word?"

I breathe deeply and gesture for him to come in. "What do you want to say, Alec?"

"I wanted to apologize for last night. To tell you the truth, at first I was furious, but now I realize I deserved it. The words and the broken nose. I'm not going to make excuses or try to justify my behavior. I should have had more respect for you. It's as simple as that."

Bishop eyes the bard skeptically, but I nod. "I appreciate your apology and forgive you."

A smile grows on Alec's face. "Thank you, my lady. That's all. I hope you have a pleasant rest of your stay in Windhelm. I'm heading back out on the road today, but I pray to see you again sometime."

"Thanks. Safe travels," I say with a smile, and he leaves.

"You're too nice," Bishop says.

I shrug. "He apologized without making excuses and left it at that. No point in holding a grudge."

The day passes quickly and uneventfully. We eat breakfast, talk with locals, stop a serial killer. Nothing out of the ordinary. 

The next day is when things get interesting. In the morning, we receive a note from Jorleif inviting both me and Bishop to dinner with Jarl Ulfric. 

"Nervous, princess?" Bishop asks as I drum my nails on the private dining table in the Palace of Kings.

"A little, but only about what he'll do when I tell him I'm not interested in fighting his war." 

A booming laugh sounds from the doorway. "No need to fear on that account, Dragonborn. I'm no dictator that will slaughter anyone who's not with me."

Bishop and I rise from our seats and bow as Ulfric enters, followed closely behind by his housecarl, Galmar Stone-Fist. Ulfric chuckles and waves his hands. "There is no need for that, my friends," he says as he takes his seat at the head of the table. "You know, I remember you from Helgen. Watched you jump from that tower. You had a fire in your eyes as bright as the flames that were around us. Makes sense, now that we know you are Dragonborn. I'll admit, I was disappointed when you chose to follow Hadvar through the keep instead of me and Ralof, but I understand the decision. How have you been since that ugly affair?"

I blink, surprised he remembers me that vividly. "I've been alright. Busy with...Dragonborn stuff, like I imagine you've been busy with civil war stuff."

The Jarl laughs and takes a drink of his wine. "Quite true, lass. I've been wanting to reach out to you for some time now, but the days fly by too fast. But on that topic, I know you do not wish to pledge yourself to either side. Is there one side you support more than the other?"

"Oh boy," Bishop whispers, smiling at me nervously. 

I look into Ulfric's eyes as I speak and servants place bowls of soup in front of us. "Not really, if I'm being honest. I worship Talos. Not very devoutly, mind you, but I do, so I of course relate to your fight for religious freedom. But...I don''t think it was wise for you to kill the High King and start this war."

Galmar, still silent, narrows his eyes at me, but Ulfric's eyebrows quirk up and a grin spreads on his face. "I truly enjoy your honest, Dragonborn. What makes you believe that?"

Breath releases from my lungs in relief. "I believe that, had the Empire been given time to build their strength back up after the Great War, they would have the best chance of driving out the Thalmor. Even if you manage to win the rebellion and ear Skyrim its independence, it's foolish to believe that the Empire, led by the Thalmor, won't retaliate full force. If you had, say, helped the Empire regain its foothold and drive out the Thalmor, you would have had a better chance claiming independence after that was all said and done."

"You have a very strategic mind for someone with no military experience," Ulfric says. "I admire your way of thinking. Unfortunately, the past cannot be changed, and either way, I would prefer to ensure the freedom of all of Skyrim's people sooner rather than later." 

" _All_ of Skyrim's people? I have to wonder if that includes those who are new to Skyrim, like the Dunmer and Argonian people you have segregated in your own city. Or the Reachmen that have always been here and had their land stolen, with help from non other than you."

Bishop is subtly shaking his head at me, eyes wide in fear, but Ulfric gives me a sad smile. "I see this is something your care about deeply."

"Not really," I say with a shrug, eliciting a humored snort from the Jarl. "It's just about what's logical. If you hear a man claim he fights for the freedom of all, while allowing the discrimination of those in his own hold, well, you would clearly have a valid reason to question that man's honor and intentions." I take a drawn-out sip of wine. 

Galmar slams his spoon on the table. "My Jarl, are you really going to allow this-"

A simple raised finger from Ulfric immediately silences his housecarl. "She's not disrespecting, Galmar. She's helping," he says quietly as he studies my smirk. "What do you suggest to remedy this?"

"Fuck if I know, I'm no politician. I just know why you're not getting more support. Fix the problems here, and more people will see you as a good leader, plus you'd gain the support of more than just Nords. Personally, I'd start by dealing with assholes like that Rolff guy."

"Watch your mouth, wench," Galmar growls. "That's my brother."

"I beat the shit out of your brother," I say in a deadpan voice.

Galmar stands and begins yelling in a fit of rage until Ulfric sends him away. "I apologize for my housecarl's behavior. He and his brother aren't even particularly close. I believe he is just upset that you do not join our fight."

The rest of the mean passes by quickly. We discuss the state of Skyrim, Shouting, and past fights and adventures. At the end of the night, Ulfric places a gentle kiss on my knuckles, getting a frown from Bishop. "I enjoyed this evening, Dragonborn. You're welcome here any time. And do let me know if you ever change your mind on the war. An ally like you would be invaluable to our cause." He nods to Bishop. "It's been a pleasure meeting you, lad. You've made a wise choice in companionship."

"Thank you, Jarl Ulfric. It was an honor to meet you," Bishop says with a slight bow, to my surprise.

Bishop wraps his arm around me to shield me from the sharp wind on our walk back to Candlehearth. "You were very...civil," I tease.

"I did my best. You were right. I have to work on being more diplomatic."

I chuckle as we enter the warm inn. "Well, color me impressed. The ranger _can_ learn."

"Nice to know you have faith in me." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, Alec. Prince of Song. I'm gonna be honest, every time I've played through this encounter, I cringe the whole time. I get this is supposed to, like, fulfill the fantasy of your favorite singer dedicating a song to you in concert or whatever, but it just kills a piece of me every time I sit through it. I apologize if any of you guys enjoy Alec and don't like my portrayal of him. I tried to give him a more dignified ending and the same courtesy of character growth I gave Bishop lol.


	14. War of Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bishop struggles with his feelings for Rhiannon like the emotionally stunted nerd he is. Rhiannon...*somewhat* deals with Cicero.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://youtu.be/49ZhrgtR-S4 War of Hearts- Ruelle

“Keep back, citizen. I have important business I must attend to.” 

I flash the young agent a wicked grin. “I know. But unfortunately, your business is being cut short. After I kill you, I’m going to kill the Emperor,” I whisper, making sure no one is close enough to hear, but thankfully the alley we’re in is empty. 

Maro’s eyes widen, and he draws his sword. “Filthy assassin. We’ll see who lies dead!” He lunges at me, his technique sloppy in his anger. I dodge to the right and swipe at his wrist, forcing him to drop his weapon. Before he has time to react, I follow up with a knee to his gut. He doubles over and stumbles forward. My boot connects with his back, and with a smirk, I kneel down on him. 

”Your father really should have trained you better before giving you a job like this,” I say, slowly sinking my dagger into his neck. 

I place the incriminating letter in his pockets and stagger off of the dead agent. “Guards! I need a guard over here!” 

Almost immediately, one rounds the corner. "Oh! What happened?"

"I don't know!" I say, almost frenzied. "I was just walking by, and he yelled something about an assassin and attacked me! He seemed crazed!" 

The guard nods. "I see. We'll take care of it. Are you alright, ma'am?"

"Yes, I'm fine. He just startled me, is all. Thank you for your help, sir."

He dismisses me, and I catch up with Bishop and Karnwyr at the city gate, and we head out to the stables. "How'd it go, ladyship?"

"Perfect. Kind of dull. He didn't put up much of a fight."

"Figures, if he's been riding daddy's coattail all his life. Hey, listen... I really don't think we should go take care of that dragon the steward was talking about. He can get literally any other mercenary to handle it."

I furrow my brow. "What? Why don't you want to do it?"

His hand reaches up rub the back of his head. Is he...nervous? "Just seems...unnecessary? Look, there's something I want to talk to you about."

"What is it?" I ask, mounting Damien.

He looks toward the setting sun before sighing. "I'll tell you when we make camp."

Well, we make camp...and Bishop seems determined to avoid making any eye contact with me as he prepares for dinner and bed. I lounge across a log on the edge of the hot springs, eyes following him, daring him to look at me. "You gonna ignore me all night?" I finally ask.

Bishop stops poking at the fire and takes a deep breath before coming to crouch down in front of me. Steam from the springs hover around him, giving him an ethereal glow in the setting sunlight. "We should go," he says after a moment. "Leave Skyrim. Just you and me and Karnwyr, away from all this insanity. We could go to Cyrodiil, High Rock, anywhere that's not here where everyone knows who you are. We can even take on new names! Live completely different lives! Together. A life where you don't have to be in constant danger."

I blink at him, mouth gaping, too stunned to speak for a moment until I shake my head. "What are you on about? Did Bishop do a bad thing?"

The ranger growls. "Now's not the time to get smart with me. I'm being serious for once!"

"Okay, calm down and talk to me then. What exactly is the problem?"

"You tell me, princess! Why do you do it? Why do you run around challenging every damn dragon! Accepting every contract that comes your way! Give me one good reason! Did you even stop and think what this all might mean to _me_?"

"You? I didn't exactly ask to be Dragonborn!" I say, leaping to my feet. "I didn't even _want_ to be Dragonborn! Just ask Lydia! You made the choice to travel with me. I'm just trying to do what's right!"

"What's right, huh? You know what I think is right? Throwing you over my shoulder right now and saving your ass before you can get yourself killed! Then you'll be safe, and I'll have you to myself."

"Is _that_ what this is about? You having me to yourself? Are you fucking serious?"

"No, that's just a bonus," he says, somehow managing a smirk between glares. "What this is about is keeping you safe. You won't need to fight every asshole between here and Markarth."

"Right, just every asshole between Kvatch and Cheydinhal," I say with an eyeroll.

"No! We'll...we'll get a house! Build it ourselves even! Somewhere remote, where we won't have to worry, and if anything happens, then I'll protect you. We belong together, can't you see that? No one else will ever be good enough for either of us. You're mine, and I'll be damned if I'm about to give you up. Not to some other man, and especially not to some overgrown lizard."

My anger instantly dissipates. I blink at the almost pained expression on Bishop's face, unsure of how to respond. "I...Bishop, it sounds nice, and I know that you care about me and want me to be safe. But I couldn't live without fighting and adventuring. I'd be miserable! I want to be with you...but if you don't like this lifestyle, I'm not forcing you to stay."

"Pfft. Right. As if it's my choice."

And just like that, the anger returns. "It IS your choice! I didn't force you to come, and I'm not forcing you to stay! If you don't like it, then why bo-"

"Because I love you, you _clueless_ woman!"

Bishop and I freeze, his words hanging in the air around us.

"I...love you," he continues slowly, measuring his words. "And I can't bare the thought of something happening to you because you decided to take on the whole world."

I breathe deeply and try to still my racing mind enough to think of a response. "Bishop, I-"

"Whatever. I'm going to bed." He stomps to the bedroll and lays down without bothering to even take off his boots. Karnwyr looks between the two of us before trotting over and laying by Bishop's feet. 

With a sigh, I put out the fire and prepare for bed before I crawl into the bedroll behind Bishop and wrap an arm and a leg around his side. "I love you too, idiot," I whisper against the back of his neck.

Bishop's body stiffens under me, and after a moment, he wiggles his way around to face me. "I...ugh, I can't," he growls, burying his face into the crook of my neck. 

"Can't what?"

"I can't do this!" His voice is muffled against me, but I manage to still make out his words. "All my life, I never cared about anyone but myself. And now...I care about you. I don't even know when it happened. When the desire to bed you changed into the joy of just being near you. When I started feeling content just holding you in my arms. Every time you stand in front of another blasted dragon, I freeze inside, thinking this one may be the last, despite our combined skills. Every time you sleep wounded, I can't close my eyes out of fear that you'll be dead when I open them." He pulls away and looks into my eyes. "I've never felt for anyone else what I feel for you. I tried to fight it at first, but I'm done. Whatever comes, we face it together. I won't let you fall. I can't lose you, and I won't. I love you, princess."

I chuckle softly. "Keep that up, and we'll make a bard out of you yet. I love you too, Bishop." I nuzzle my nose against his, and before I can pull away, he captures my lips in a deep kiss. 

"Let's get some sleep, ladyship," he whispers, sounding almost bitter. "Tomorrow might be difficult when we get back to the Sanctuary."

We stop in front of the Black Door. Beyond that, Cicero awaits.

Except apparently he doesn't.

Gabriella is in the entrance hall when we walk in. "Gaius Maro is dead," I tell her.

"Yes, I know. As does Astrid. You've earned your pay and your bonus, but we have a more pressing matter to deal with. It's...Cicero." My heart skips a beat in my chest, and Bishop glances at me. Deja vu. "There's been an incident. Astrid will explain downstairs.

In the common area, Veezara sits in a puddle of blood while Babette tends to his wounds. Astrid is ranting about the fool until she sees me and Bishop approach cautiously. "Maro is dead, I know! But we've got a bigger problem right now!"

"What happened?"

"The fool went berserk! He hurt Veezara, tried to kill me, and then ran! You know him better than anyone else here. Do you have any idea where he could have gone?" 

It only takes a moment of thought. "Somewhere in Dawnstar. He was up there before he arrived here, so his journals might say where exactly. 

Astrid nods. "Figure it out. Fast. Arnbjorn chased after him, and I'm worried."

I set off immediately towards Cicero's room, Bishop following closely behind. I hesitate outside of the door, and Bishop places a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Do you want me to go and get them?"

My head shakes even though I desperately want to say yes. "Big Tough Dragon Girl," I murmur before pushing the door open. 

The moment I step in, it feels like I travelled through time to that night. Sweat instantly starts forming on my skin, my breath struggles to flow as if Cicero's hand was still around my throat. When I finally manage to gulp down air, I can practically taste the 'ale' he gave me. Unable to help it, I let out a sob and fall to my knees.

Arms wrap around my back, and I hear Bishop's voice at my ear. "You don't have to be Big Tough Dragon Girl all the time, darlin'."

I shakily nod, rubbing my stinging eyes. "He keeps his journals in the top drawer of that dresser," I say with a gesture in the right direction before rising to my feet and stumbling back into the hall.

"Got 'em," Bishop says after a minute, joining me on the ground and dropping them in front of me. 

My fingers tremble only slightly as I flip through the pages and look at the dates. I slow as the entry date suddenly jumps from 4E 192 to 4E 200, just last year. On the last entry of the fourth volume, my heart stops as I read the words and process the date it was written. 

'I took a stroll and spied a maid, but Matron's duty stayed my blade. So busy now, I miss the thrill, if only I had time to kill.'

I flip back to the previous page to be sure. Yes, this was when he was in Cheydinhal, just at the time we passed by each other there. His words outside the Loreius Farm ring through my head. "I was out for a stroll...couldn't take a break from all my duties...." He also said when explaining the Black Hand that as the Keeper, he wasn't allowed to kill.

Bishop reads my horrified body language. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"I'll explain later," I say, shaking my head. One thing at a time.

Scanning through the final volume, I finally find it. He was staying in the long-abandoned Dawnstar Sanctuary. A little more digging, and the passphrase is mine. "Got it."

We return to Astrid and the others. Veezara is thankfully looking much better. "He's going to the Dawnstar Sanctuary. I'm on my way now."

Astrid furrows her brow at me. "Sister...I know you and Cicero were close. Will you be able to-"

"Yes. In a heartbeat."

"But how do I kn-"

"He...hurt me, Astrid. The night I left last."

Her eyes widen. "Why in Sithis' name didn't you tell anyone?" she demands.

"It was...in an intimate way. I was already planning on killing him when I came back today."

Astrid takes a moment to respond as her features soften. "I see. I know you have horses, but if you'd like, you can take my horse, Shadowmere. He...doesn't need much rest."

I thank her and leave to see Shadowmere, an ghostly black horse with red eyes rise out of the pond outside surrounded by mist and bubbles. Neat.

"You're hurt."

"What gave it away?"

I toss Arnbjorn a healing potion as he rests his back against a boulder outside the Dawnstar Sanctuary, his injured side slowly oozing thick blood. "I'm here to save your ass and kill the madman. You can try not being a dick for two seconds."

"Hmph. Thanks, I guess. Yeah, I gotta admit, the jester's pretty good with that butter knife of his. I gave as good as I got though. Pretty sure I severed an artery."

"Thanks, Arnbjorn. You can head home."

The Black Door stands straight, tell, and just as daunting as the Falkreath one was the first time I saw it. "What is life's greatest illusion?" it asks in its raspy voice.

"Innocence, my brother."

The irony of the phrase is not lost on me. 

Bishop and I stop in the pitch black entrance hall, where I cast Candlelight to follow me. "I want to go the rest of the way on my own," I say firmly.

"Uh...are you sure that's a good idea, princess?"

I nod. "I have to. If anything goes wrong, I'll yell for you."

Pain is etched in Bishop's eyes, but he nods and pulls me tightly against him. "I love you, Big Tough Dragon Girl."

"I love you too," I whisper against his lips.

Bathed in the glow of my Candlelight, I follow the hallway downstairs, and Cicero's voice calls out from not far away. "Sweet Rhiannon? Is that you? Oh, I knew you'd come! Send the best to defeat the best. Astrid knew her stupid wolf couldn't slay sly Cicero."

A pale apparition in Dark Brotherhood armor appears from nowhere and charges at me with a ghostly sword. I dodge and plunge my dagger into him, the blade slowing as if being stabbed through water, and the ghost dissipates as quickly as it appeared.

"I'm not here for her, Cicero. Come out and talk to me."

The only noise is the sound of my footsteps until I get to a bridge where three pikes emerge from a wall, stabbing out over the walkway. "I told you I'm no fool," Cicero's voice says from below the bridge. Peaking from over the side, I see a shadow cross through the glow of my light. "My home is well-protected though. You know I've always been a _stick_ -ler for details." His laughter fades as he disappears down another path and I time my way across the bridge between the pikes, prepared for another ghost waiting for me at the end. 

I fight through several more ghosts and even a troll before I find myself before a door painted with a fresh coat of spilled blood. Cicero waits on the ground in the room, clutching an injured leg. "Sweet...Rhiannon," he wheezes.

A flood of emotions washes over me, and I do my best to ignore them. "Do you have any idea," I say slowly, "How deeply you betrayed me?"

To my surprise (although not really), Cicero laughs. "I did no such thing. I did what needed to be done. The Listener and the Keeper! Just think of it! We were meant to be together! You'll see it too, you will."

I shake my head as I step toward him, causing him to cower back. "You destroyed any chance there was of that ever happened. I can never trust you again."

Cicero's eyes widen, almost in fear, and I'm transported to the Loreius Farm when he begged me to come to Falkreath with him. A stabbing pain in my chest brings me back to the present.

Crouching down, I put my face level with Cicero's and study his sad eyes. "Do what you will," he whines. "Cicero has no fight left. In the end, Sithis will judge us both."

I stay silent for a moment before sliding his jester hat off of his head. "If I ever see your face again, I will kill you. Understood?"

The fool furrows his brow but nods. "I think I love you, sweet Listener," he whispers.

I stand with a sigh. "You don't do what you did to people you love," I say as I walk out of the room, his hat dangling from my fist.


	15. Rabbit Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhiannon and Bishop take on a ghost from Bishop's past before carrying out the ultimate assassination.
> 
> What did it cost?  
> Everything.

Cicero's hat drops on the table in front of Astrid. "It's done," I say.

"Good. Arnbjorn is safe, too, thanks to you. Feel free to hold on to Shadowmere for awhile. He doesn't get taken out very often and could use the exercise. But for now, speak to Festus. He's been planning the next park of the operation."

In somewhat of a daze, I follow Bishop to the old mage, who tells us about the plan to kill a famous but anonymous chef who's scheduled to cook for the Emperor during his visit to Skyrim in two weeks. "Now unfortunately," he huffs, "I still don't have a lead to uncover The Gourmet's identity with, so you'll have to hang around until I find something."

"Sounds fine, Festus, thank you," I say with a smile at his grumpy scowl.

"Hmph."

The next day finds Bishop and I heading to the Dead Man's Drink in Falkreath for some early morning booze. "Wanna go hunting after this?" I ask, sliding into a chair with my tankard of ale.

"Oh, uh...I dunno, princess. Falkreath...doesn't...have very good game?" He wrinkles his nose before burying his face in the mouth of his tankard as he drinks, intentionally avoiding my gaze.

I snort. "You're gonna need a better lie than that. Falkreath has some of the best game in Skyrim, and you know it. What's going on, Bishop? Why don't you want to go hunting?"

"I'm just not in the mood, okay?" he grumbles. My narrowed eyes study his stubborn features as he stares intently at his drink until sighing. "Look...I don't like hanging around in this area." I stay silent, prompting him to explain. "There's this guy. Thorn. Bandit chief. He and his goonies hole up in a cave by here. It's why I never stick around here very long, especially since travelling with you. These guys are bad news, ladyship. I've lost count of the number of wenches I've heard of him...taking. I mean, I used to be a bandit too, sure, but Thorn is just a monster."

I blink and shake my head in surprise. "You used to be a bandit?"

Bishop's eyes widen as it dawns on him what he admitted to me. "Fuck...no, I...well, yeah. A long time ago. That's how I know Thorn. We _hated_ each other. We were pretty much on opposite sides." He glares down at his tankard as if it was Thorn itself.

After a few moments of me silently watching him, he finally looks back to me expectantly. "Well! I'm in the mood to kill a rapist. What say you?" 

He grins back at me. "What you haven't had enough of that the past few days?" 

Uh-oh. Alright, just don't acknowledge it. I chuckle and take a drawn out sip of my ale. "Huh, I really never noticed, but now that I think about it, you _have_ always rushed getting out of this area."

"I can be subtle, princess," he says teasingly.

"Oh, wow. I didn't even think that 'subtle' was in your vocabulary. Good for you."

Bishop rolls his eyes, but chuckles and leans over to plant a soft kiss on my cheek.

Several dead bodies lay strewn around the room, but I'm frozen in place staring at the only one that wasn't put there by me or Bishop. It's the body of a woman, laid on her stomach. Her body is covered with numerous cuts and bruises, but most prominent are the lashes on her bare bottom. Deep, dark, and stained with drying blood. They must have finished with her not long before we came along. 

"Princess?" Bishop says so quietly I barely hear him.

"Hm?"

"We don't have to do this, Rhiannon."

"I know," I whisper, eyes still locked on the woman's corpse. "Bishop?"

Bishop steps over and puts a gentle arm around my shoulders. "What is it?"

"Is that what mine looked like?"

Silence echoes throughout the room as the question settles on us. "Do you really want to know?" I nod, and he sighs. "Yours were...you had more, but hers look like she was hit harder." I can feel his eyes on me as I continue to stare. "C'mon, let's keep moving. If you still want to."

"I do," I say softly before following him down the next hall.

I should have killed Cicero.

We kill our way through the cave, coming across plenty more female bodies in a similar state as the first, until Bishop stops me outside of a door. "This is it, princess. He should be in here." 

I ignore the almost fearful look on Bishop's face and slowly open as much of the door as I dare. A muscular man with long blond hair stands in the center of a group of four others, talking and laughing, oblivious to us watching them. I point out two for Bishop to take out while I settle my aim on one of the others. Within moments, all four of Thorn's friends are bleeding out of the ground, and Thorn himself lifts his axe and begins marching to the door as I swing it all the way open. 

"Surprise!" Bishop shouts with a smirk, loosing an arrow that buries itself in the bandit's shoulder.

"Bishop, you pathetic rodent," he growls. Straining to smirk through his wince of pain, he stops in his tracks. "Ah, but I see you've brought me a little mouse to play with. I'll admit, she is quite the gift." Even through my armor, I feel vulnerable and exposed as his eyes trace the curves of my body hungrily. 

But I smirk back, placing my bow on my back and pulling out my daggers. "Oh, you think she's _your_ plaything? You've got it backwards, Thorn." Bishop releases another arrow, this time into Thorn's ankle, bringing the man to his knees with a grunt. "Go wild, princess."

Thorn laughs and opens his mouth to speak as he shakily rises to his feet, but I beat him to it. "FUS RO!" He's blown to the ground, and before he can regain his composure enough to get back up, I'm standing over him, a wicked grin on my face.

Later that night, Festus corners us in the dining room of the Sanctuary to tell us he's found a lead- a signed copy of The Gourmet's cookbook, signed to a chef in Markarth. Bishop and I are to find him and get him to tell us the identity of The Gourmet, then find The Gourmet and kill him. Within a few days, it's done, and we return to Falkreath. 

And then it's time.

"Feels like we haven't been here in months," Bishop says as we toss our things down in the foyer of Silian Manor.

"I know...," I say, running a hand through my hair. "Hey, so...I think when all this is over, I might leave the Brotherhood. I don't know how well they take to people leaving them, but I'm fairly certain I could kick any of their asses."

Bishop snorts as we head to the stairs. "Thank the gods! Do you have any idea how much I've despised all of this?"

"Too much of a goody-two-shoes for a little murder?" I ask with a laugh. 

"More like I care about you too much to see you put yourself at all this risk. Have you noticed you're the only one doing any of the dirty work? You're the newest member! It doesn't make any sense."

I shrug. "I'm also the Listener, so that could be why."

"You heard Astrid yourself say that she thinks you being the Listener is ridiculous. I don't know, princess, it just seems...odd. You get a disguise for tomorrow?"

"Yeah, Festus gave me a scroll that temporarily changes my race."

"Huh. Neat." Bishop curls up on the bed and pulls me into his arms. "You remember the plan?" I nod, closing my eyes and inhaling his scent of trees and leather. "Good. Karnwyr and I will be waiting for you on the battlements. There's no way anyone should know about what we're doing, so we should be able to slip out no problem...."

Bishop grows silent, and I look up from his chest to see his face creased in a frown. "What is it?"

"I dunno," he says quietly, shaking his head. "Just got a bad feeling about this."

I stretch my neck to give him a chaste kiss. "It'll be fine, Bishop. You just worry too much."

He takes a deep breath and presses his lips to my forehead. "You don't worry _enough_ , sweetness. Anyways, we should get some sleep. I love you, princess."

I nod and close my eyes, savoring the feel of my body against his. "I love you too."

"Stop right there. This tower is off limits until further notice."

Without a word, I hand Commander Maro the writ of passage I took off of The Gourmet's corpse. The Penitus Oculatus agent narrows his eyes as he snatches the paper from my hand, but his eyes widen as he reads it. "By Azura...The Gourmet! I'm sorry, I should have realized by your clothes," he says, eyeing my chef hat. "The castle chef, Gianna, is eager to meet you. Hang a left inside to get to the kitchen."

"Thank you, sir." I walk past him and into Castle Dour, following his instructions to the kitchen. 

Gianna is indeed eager. I almost feel bad knowing she's not really meeting her hero. "I guessed right!" she exclaims when I introduce myself. "I always imagined the great Gourmet was a Wood Elf!"

I brush aside her excitement and get started on cooking, letting her take the lead as much as I can. Finally the potage is complete, and I add my secret ingredient- jarrin root. Enough to kill someone in just a bite. 

"What kind of root is that?" Gianna asks as she watches over my shoulder. 

"Now, now. You can't expect me to give away all of my secrets."

"You're right, my apologies! I'll serve when we get upstairs. You just stand there and...be amazing!"

Oh, this poor woman.

It happens so fast. The Emperor begins eating and dies within moments. I slaughter the two guards in the room with ease, leaving Gianna and the other nobles at the meal in horror. Bishop is waiting for me just like he said.

He flashes me a smile just before an arrow lodges itself in his gut.

His eyes widen in shock as a scream bubbles up from my throat and Karnwyr begins to bark and growl. "You, an assassin for the Dark Brotherhood, have just made an attempt on the Emperor's life." I look up and, through my tears, see Commander Maro and two other agents appear at the other end of the battlement. "Would have succeeded had it been the real man. Surprised? So was I when a member of your 'family' came to me with the plan and a deal. I get you, and the Dark Brotherhood gets to continue its existence. But you know what? I have a new plan. I kill your friend while you watch, then I kill you and every one of your miserable 'brothers and sisters'. Your sanctuary's being put to the sword right now. You killed my son! And now you'll pay the price!"

Everything moves in slow motion. Maro walks away as the other agents run to attack. I make quick work of one while Karnwyr lunges at the other, latching onto his leg, but the agent strikes back and plunges his sword below the wolf's shoulder. I turn to him and, with a thundering yell, cross my blades over his neck and slice his head clean off, unbothered by the sickening crack his spine makes.

I rush to Bishop's side, staining the white chef's tunic in the puddle of blood surrounding him. "Nice move, ladyship," he says breathlessly. 

"Shh, lemme see the wound." I remove his hand from around the arrow to find his armor soaked. Blood continues to gush out, even as I remove my hat and apply it to him in an attempt to staunch the bleeding.

"Priness...," he says, eyeing the door to Castle Dour, where a commotion becomes audible. I ignore him, desperately tearing fabric from my tunic and adding it to the wound. "Rhiannon!" My tear-filled eyes meet his as an injured Karnwyr staggers to him and lays his head in Bishop's lap. "Go."

I shake my head. "I can't," I choke out. 

Bishop growls and pulls me down for one more kiss. "If you don't go now, we'll _both_ be killed, and I'll be kicking your ass in Sovngarde for all eternity. _Go._ " 

All the fabric I've been applying pressure to is already soaked. Bishop's skin is as pale as paper, and it looks like it's taking every ounce of energy he has to stay conscious. I choke on another sob as the gravity of what's happening hits me. "I love you, Bishop."

"I...love you too, princess," he wheezes, lifting his hand to stroke his trembling thumb across my wet cheek. "Go."

I look down at Karnwyr, his fur matted with both his own blood and Bishop's. "I love you, boy," I whisper, scratching behind his ear before I run to the end of the battlements without looking back. If I look back, I'll never leave. 

They're almost all gone. Festus, Veezara, Gabriella. Arnbjorn is dead too, but fuck him. Thankfully, I'm at least able to save Nazir, and Babette was out of town when the battle started. Astrid was the one that betrayed me. Shocker. But she's dead now, too. And there's still an Emperor to kill. 

But none of it seems to matter anymore. 

I find Motierre in Whiterun, where the Night Mother told me I would. He tells me the real Emperor can be found on his ship outside of Solitude. I head straight there. I should probably feel exhausted by the time I arrive, but I don't. I don't feel anything. 

The Emperor dies well, exuding grace and dignity until the end. Maro, on the other hand.... He knows me only as the Dragonborn, thanks to the scroll Festus gave me, so he readily accepts my invitation to dinner without an inkling of what I have planned for him. He dies screaming and crying like a baby in my basement. 

Styrr, Solitude's priest of Arkay, looks flabbergasted when I show up at the Hall of the Dead to make a request. "What could you possibly want with his remains? This man conspired to kill the Emperor of Tamriel!" 

"He wasn't perfect. But he was important to me, and I want to give him the end he wanted. I'll pay you well for his ashes and the wolf's, and even better for your silence on the matter," I say with a stony expression.

Styrr shifts uncomfortable. "Well, I suppose it couldn't hurt anything...."

Bishop's ashes swirl with the wind as I empty the urn from the top of the tower he took me to so long ago. 

I return to Nazir and Babette, who moved to the Dawnstar Sanctuary since the one in Falkreath was destroyed during the attack. They're understandably hurt when I inform them I will no longer be involved in the Brotherhood, Listener or not, but they don't fight it. Nazir simply requests one final favor. He asks me to go to Riften and see Astrid's old friend Delvin about getting the Dawnstar Sanctuary more suitable for living in. 

And I discover that when one door closes, another opens. Sometimes you just need to pick the lock first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woof. This chapter was tough to write. I've known it was going in this direction since I first started planning the story, but I was not emotionally prepared for it lol.


	16. Silent Footsteps and Noisy Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhiannon struggles to cope with the recent past but makes some new friends who help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been awhile, my dudes, but I'm back. Back in black. 'Cause I'm still mourning Bishop. Even though he's in the other fanfic I've been working on. I don't have a problem, okay? I don't have a problem. 
> 
> BUT if you, too, miss our dearly beloved Bishop, check out my other fic! It's called Bring Me To Life, because I'm a loser like that. Is this a shameless plug? Yes. Do I care? A little, but not enough to stop me.

“So, lass. Delvin tells me you recently left the Brotherhood. Any chance you’re looking for a new gig?”

I shrug as I watch the red-headed man over the brim of my tankard. “Depends. What do you need done?”

”I could use someone to help with a small job in the market tomorrow morning. I’ll create a distraction while you break into Madesi’s strongbox under his stall. He’ll have a silver ring in there. Take it and plant it on Brand-Shei.”

”Seems simple enough,” I say, narrowing my eyes, “But I get the feeling if I say yes to this, I’ll be saying yes to a lot more.”

Brynjolf chuckles and motions to Vekel, the barkeep of The Ragged Flagon, for a refill for me, tossing the septims for it on the table. “You’re quite perceptive, lass. Full disclosure, I _am_ looking for some new recruits. But if you try it out and decide it’s not for you, then that’s the end of it. No strings attached,” he says with a wink. 

I ignore the involuntary beat my heart skips and nod. “Alright, I’m in.”

”Excellent. Tomorrow morning then.”

The thief heads to the totally-secret door behind the bar, and I’m overcome by a clenching sensation in my chest. I can practically hear the quips Bishop would be making if he was with me. It’s been more than a month now, and his absence is just as tangible as it was the first day. At least I’ve stopped crying. I don’t let myself cry anymore. People die young everyday. I have to get over it. I have to be Big Tough-

“Dragon girl!”

My head snaps up, eyes wide, and I see a familiar face. “Maul. It’s been awhile. How have you been?” 

"Same as usual," he says, plopping into the seat Brynjolf abandoned. "How about you? Killed any dragons lately?"

I chuckle and run a hand through my hair as I think of how best to avoid the question of how I'm doing. "I've killed a fair few, I guess. Have you seen any around this area yet? I don't come this way much."

Maul and I spend awhile drinking and chatting before I excuse myself with the promise of being in town for a bit more time. Riften's inn, The Bee and Barb, is packed, and despite how tired I am, I spend a decent chunk of time tossing and turning, unable to sleep because of the noise downstairs. With a sigh, I sit up and dig a quill and some paper from my pack. 

After leaving Dawnstar, I procrastinated my visit to Riften, instead heading home to Solitude to be in...well, solitude. But after several days, the gaping hole left in my life became too unbearable, and I knew I needed a friend. My best friend. I took the walk into town to search for him in The Blue Palace, only to discover that he returned to Cyrodiil shortly after the Vittoria fiasco. Naturally, I was hurt that he left without saying goodbye, and I also felt guilty for not getting the chance to speak with him about the ball like I promised we would, but I couldn't blame him. He could have even stopped by the manor while I was out of town for all I know. Either way, I missed and still miss my friend. 

'My Cas- I would be lying if I told you I was unbothered to hear you left, and you know I can't lie to you anyways. I really did intend to talk to you about what happened. Things just got hectic, and I had to be out of town for awhile for a contract. 

'I understand if you're upset with me, and I'm so sorry for any problems I caused. Maybe even me writing to you is terribly selfish, but...well, I'm not doing so great. I miss you, and I miss the old times. I'm sick of being the Dragonborn, and I'm sick of being alone, and I'm sick of everyone around me fucking dying. I just want to be a kid camping in the forest with her best friend again. This is bullshit.

'Do whatever you want with this letter. Reply to it, burn it, give it a solemn nod like you do and then forget all about it and me. Just know that I really am sorry, and that I still want to be friends if you do. I know that might seem like a weird thing to say after what happened at the ball, but being friends like we were before is honestly what I want more than anything in the whole world right now. I meant it when I said you're the best friend I've ever had, and divines know I could use a friend right now. -With love, Rhiannon'

I fold the parchment and seal it before gently tucking it into my bag to save for the next courier I see. 

But...should I send it, though? If he left, maybe he wants to be left alone. What if he thinks I'm only reaching out again because I'm trying to replace Bishop? I sigh and pull the letter back out, giving it a long, hard look before ripping it in half and crumpling it in my hands. I'd rather be depressed and alone than make Cas feel like a second choice. 

Or maybe I should write just to explain that I wasn't intentionally avoiding him? Fuck. I've said it once, and I'll say it again: this is bullshit. 

Brynjolf waits for me at a stall in the market the next morning. "Ready?" I ask, lifting one of the potion bottles from his stall as if looking to buy. 

"Aye. Wait until I start the distraction, then show me what you're made of."

The job plays out flawlessly. Brynjolf gathers everyone in the market around his stall and raves about his 'Falmerblood Elixir' while I pick the lock to Madesi's strongbox and plant the ring on Brand-Shei. "Looks like I chose the right person for the job," Brynjolf says, smoothly slipping a clinking pouch into my bag when I approach him afterwards. "Although I guess that should be expected considering what I've heard about you."

I raise an eyebrow. "And what exactly have you heard about me?"

The corner of his lips quirk up in a smirk. "Oh nothing...Dragonborn." 

My eyes roll to the back of my head, and Brynjolf chuckles. "Damn Maul to Oblivion."

"Information is his trade, lass, and you chose to indulge him. So it's true then? You're the Dragonborn?"

I shrug. "So am I in your club now or what?"

Brynjolf laughs loudly, his green eyes twinkling. "No changing the subject with me, lass. I must ask...what's the Dragonborn doing running around with thieves and assassins?"

"I'm not a very good person," I say flatly.

"Rhiannon Jorrick?" I turn towards a voice saying my name while Brynjolf laughs again. "I've been look for you. Got something I'm supposed to deliver. Your hands only." Do couriers get scripts when training for the job? 

The courier fishes out a sealed letter, and my heart nearly stops when I see the wax seal. I recognize Casavir's dragon-shaped seal immediately. Brynjolf senses the atmospheric shift and raises an eyebrow at me. "There's more work and coin for you if you're interested, lass. Just meet me down in the Flagon when you're ready." He pats me on the shoulder as he passes and heads towards...the Temple of Mara? Interesting.

I shake my head and quickly walk to my room in The Bee and Barb, closing and locking the door behind me before tearing the letter open.

'My Rhiannon-' A grin spreads across my face at him remembering our old greeting. 'I apologize for my rushed departure. I came to your home to say goodbye, but no one was there. I have returned to the Imperial City for the time being in order to tend to a certain duty I feel I have. I know I have been gone for awhile now, but the first part of the process I'm in involved no contact outside of the Temple of the One.' Well that's conveniently obnoxious. 'As it stands, I plan to return to Skyrim as soon as I am able.

'Do not blame yourself for what happened. I know you still are. Stop it. You must understand that I am the one that initiated this whole situation. I invited you to the ball, I told you how I felt, I kissed you. I'm the one that broke my oath. But that's what I've gone back to Cyrodiil for- to right a particular wrong. 

'My dear Rhiannon...I've made so many mistakes. I have let doubt and fear dictate too many choices. I'm done with that. I will do what I must to live the life I want to lead, not the one I think I have to. 

'I expect to return to Solitude within a month. Perhaps two. You will almost definitely hit me when we next meet. I am prepared for that. -Yours always, Casavir'

That son of a cunt.

I snatch up my paper and a quill and begin angrily scribbling. 'My Cas- Listen here, you little shit. If you're giving up your whole oath just because we kissed, I swear on every fucking Divine and every Daedric fuckin Prince that I'm gonna knock you straight into the fucking Void. 

'I don't know what you expect from me, Cas. Even if there is or ever was something for us...I can't. Bishop is...gone. No, he didn't abandon me like I'm sure you'd like to think. He's the forever kind of gone. And the thought of...being involved with anyone right now is nauseating. _Please_ don't throw everything away for a future I can't promise you. I really really don't want to loathe myself any more than I already do. 

'I actually wrote a letter to you the night before receiving yours and decided not to send it because I didn't want to lead you on or make you think I thought of you as a back-up choice. I'm more than happy to be your best friend. Don't flip your life around just because you think it's what I want. - With love, Rhiannon'

I seal the letter and practically throw myself down the stairs, where I find the courier sipping mead at the bar and chatting with the owner, Keerava. "I will give you three times your usual rate to deliver this letter as fast as you possibly can," I say between breaths, slapping the letter down in front of him.

The courier jumps at my sudden appearance but nods as he looks at the name on it. "You got it. Imperial City, right? Same guy at the Temple the letter to you was from? I can get it there in two days tops, as long as the border isn't too backed up."

"Great, thank you so much." I count out my coin into his hand, and he departs immediately. 

"You there, lass?" Brynjolf snaps his fingers in front of my face.

"Yeah. Bersi, Keerava, and Haelga. Urn, Talen-Jei, Dibella statue. One hundred septims each."

The thief nods. "You don't have to do it _right_ now if you're too distracted," he says, watching me carefully.

I wave away his doubt. "I'm fine. A job's a job. What's going on in my personal life doesn't affect my performance."

Brynjolf smirks and pats my hand resting on the table. "Competent _and_ professional. You're turning out to be quite the prize. If you need anything else, let me know."

"Will do," I say with a strained smile, resisting the urge to tear my hand away. The electricity that may have once excited me sears through my body and leaves a painful burning sensation in my chest. For a moment, I swear I can feel fingers wrapped around my throat. 

With a shake of my head, I stand and leave the Flagon to go and harass some stingy bums.

Within a couple of hours, I have a sack of gold dangling at my hip and three thoroughly pissed off business owners. "Well, well," Brynjolf says, sizing me up as I plop the gold in front of him. "You got the gold, and you did it clean. Good. Dumping bodies and keeping guards quiet can be expensive. You've done more than prove yourself, lass. We need people like you in our outfit. Follow me, and we'll introduce you to Mercer, the Guild Master."

I follow him through the totally-secret door and down a hall into a large cistern where a grouchy man waits for us, eyes narrowed at me. "This better not be a waste of the Guild's resources, Brynjolf," he huffs. "We need skill, not a pretty face."

"This is the Dragonborn, Mercer. And the leader of the Dark Brotherhood."

"Ex-leader," I mumble. 

"Hmph. Before we begin, I want to make one thing perfectly clear. You play by the rules, you walk away rich. You break the rules, and you lose your share. You do what I say, when I say. Understand?" I nod a single time, my eyes on his, and he sneers back at me. "Good. Then let's put your 'expertise' to the test."

Brynjolf's brow furrows again. "Wait. You can't be talking about Goldenglow. Even our Vex couldn't in."

Mercer shrugs without breaking our staring contest. "You claim she has the skills for our line of work. Let her prove it. Goldenglow Estate is critical to one of our largest clients," he explains to me, "But the owner's shut us out. Brynjolf will give you the details."

I win the staring contest when he turns to walk away, but Brynjolf clears his throat. "Mercer. Forgetting something?"

The Guild Master rolls his eyes. "Since Brynjolf _assures_ me you'll be nothing but a benefit to us, then you're in. Welcome to the Thieves Guild." 

Brynjolf gives me the details, and I nod along, but every now and then, I see Mercer's gaze drift to us out of the corner of my eye. "Thanks, Bryn. And uh...." I lower my voice. "Is he always like that?" I ask with a nod towards Mercer when I see him bent over his desk studying papers.

Brynjolf sighs and rubs the back of his head. "He's a very...business-oriented man. And very used to disappointment. Our organization's been having a run of bad luck that's stressing him out. Don't worry about it too much, lass. Just do your job, do it well, and I'm sure he'll warm up to you. Now go on and get to know the others before you head out, and make sure you talk to Vex. I've got important things to do. We'll speak another time."

"So, Thrynn, you were a bandit, right?"

Thrynn, a Nord with dark hair and impressive muscles, narrows his eyes at Cynric, the gruff Breton that asked the question. "Yeah. What of it this time?"

"Is it true that bandits...you know...get real friendly with the wildlife?"

Cynric grins ear to ear, his eyes darting to mine, but Thrynn just rolls his eyes. "You're an idiot."

"That's not a no," I say teasingly, earning a round of guffaws from the other men around the table.

"You're an idiot, too."

I giggle as I get to my feet. "Well, this idiot is off to be killed by a bunch of thugs on an island. I'll see you boys later."

The chatter of the men fades as I head from the Ragged Flagon into the cistern, but I'm so distracted that I don't hear the steps following me until I feel a hand on my shoulder. In a flash, I pull out one of my daggers and spin, the tip of my blade pressed against Thrynn's sternum. "Stendarr's mercy, woman, relax!"

My eyes widen, and I swiftly sheathe my dagger. "Sorry. Just jumpy."

"Fair enough. Look, this Goldenglow job was too rough for even Vex, and she's the best infiltrator we've got. What d'you say I come along and cover you in case things get hairy?"

I smirk up at him. "Depends. You're not gonna get friendly with the wildlife while we're staking the place out, are you?"

He chuckles and leans against the wall. "Cynric asks me that every time there's a pretty lady around to stop me from getting friendly with _her_ before he does."

"Ah, I see. Well good news is neither of you will be getting anywhere with me." I pat him on the cheek and pass him. 

"Sounds like a challenge," he says, keeping pace with me.

"Turn it into a challenge, and my blade breaks skin next time."

"Ooh, the Dragonborn has claws."

"Word gets around fast down here. Listen, if you wanna help, that's fine, but don't expect anything more than a platonic relationship with me."

Thrynn smirks like he's about to make another quip, but thinks better of it and nods. "I can make my peace with that. Things have been slow around here, and I can take any cut I can get."

A few hours later, and we find ourselves shivering in the sewer below the estate. I cast Flames and keep it balled up in my hands for warmth. "Ah, so you're a mage."

I snort. "Hardly. I know, like, five spells and only use two. Stealth archery is more my cup of tea." 

"Makes sense for an assassin and thief I guess. Hey, let me get in on some of that action." He moves as close to me as he can, backing me up against the sewer wall, and my hands twitch as I resist the involuntary urge to shoot the fire out at him. He notices. "So, do I need to stick around to unlock your tragic backstory, or do you wanna tell me now?"

I chuckle sheepishly and extinguish the Flames to pull out my bow. "It's uh...." My lips turn down while I struggle to think of how much I want to say before I sigh. "There was a man I was close to, and he didn't like that I was committed to someone else. So a couple months ago, we were talking together alone, and he slipped me a paralysis potion and...."

Thrynn's dark eyes soften. "I see. I'm sorry you went through that." I shrug and study my fingernails. "Out of curiosity, what happened to the other man? You've been alone since arriving in Riften."

My attempted act of nonchalance breaks, and I freeze in place. "He's...in Sovngarde."

"Ah. I'm sorry...again."

"Yeah. Thanks. I haven't really talked about this to anyone else, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't share it."

"Of course." 

We get in, do the job, and get out. Safe emptied, bee hives burned. Strong friendship quickly made.

"Wake-up time, lass!" 

I jolt up in my bed, my fist swinging out at whoever just brushed hair out of my face. "Whoa, easy there! It's just me!" My brain awakens enough to recognize Brynjolf's voice as he catches my second sloppy punch. 

"Hm? Bryn...? Oh...." I smile groggily and lay back down.

Brynjolf chucklees softly and tucks another strand of hair behind my ear. "Bryn, I don't think...." As Thrynn's voice speaks, Brynjolf follows the strand of hair down my neck, causing my entire body to size up and my eyes to fly open. My heart bashes against my ribs like a shield against a cage. I break through my feeling of paralysis after a moment and scramble up and away from the person touching me until I realize who it is. A sob rips from my throat, and I curl my legs up in my arms as the dam holding my tears back finally breaks.

"Thrynn, go lock the door to the Flagon." I give a small yelp at the order, my breath rapidly quickening. "Shh, lass, I'm sorry! We're the only ones here, and I don't want your pride hurt by others walking in and seeing you like this." Another sob catches in my throat as I nod vigorously, trying to melt the concrete that seemed to have filled my lungs. "I'm sorry if I set you off."

"It's...o-okay," I say between heaving cries. "Sorry." All my emotions have hit me at once. The incident with Cicero comes at me with full force, and the emptiness of being without Bishop to help me through it leaves me feeling painfully alone, despite Brynjolf and Thrynn being here with me, concerned looks on both of their faces. My tears eventually stop, and my breathing slows. I glance at my company. "Sorry," I mumble, wiping my wet cheeks with the back of my hand. 

"Pft. I'm the one who owes _you_ an apology. I shouldn't have touched you like that. I was just...." He trails off as he searches my eyes for a moment before clearing his throat. "I'm sorry."

I sigh and sniffle. "You barely touched me. It's my problem."

Thrynn coughs and steps forward, garnering mine and Brynjolf's attention. "Rhiannon...considering the thing's you've told me, you really don't have anything to apologize for. It's an understandable reaction." Brynjolf raises a questioning brow at him, but Thrynn just shrugs. "You hired me to be the muscle. Get your information somewhere else."

Brynjolf sighs deeply and glances between me and my hands. "May I?" he asks, holding his own hand out to me. I hesitantly nod and give him my hand. He holds it in both of his, stroking it with his thumbs and gauging my reaction. "I really am sorry, lass. You don't have to tell me whatever you told Thrynn, but know that I'm here for you if you need anything. I wouldn't do anything to hurt you."

I manage a weak smile at him. "Thanks."

"It's my pleasure." Now, I have some business to tend to with you, but if you need a mo-"

"No, I'm fine. What is it?"

"Are you sure?" I nod and straighten my back. "Alright. Well for starters, Goldenglow went perfectly, lass," he says with a grin, setting a coin pouch on my bedside table. "Second thing, Thrynn gave me the Bill of Sale from the safe. Do you have any idea what this symbol is on the top? It's the only thing we can use to identify the buyer."

"No clue. I thought you guys would know."

"Damn," he murmurs. "Ah well. Mercer's looking into it to see what other information we can get from the bill. One last thing. Because you did such a great job with Goldenglow, Maven Black-Briar has a job to get done and asked for you by name. She wants to meet with you in The Bee and Barb right away."

I blink in surprise and begin to stumble out of bed and pull on my armor. "I mean, sure, but will I come out of there alive?"

With a chuckle, Brynjolf rises to his feet. "If you needed to fear for your life, she'd be calling for the Dark Brotherhood, not you. It's just business, lass. Be professional, do whatever she asks, and get the job done."

"Got it. Thanks, Bryn. For everything. How obvious is it that I was crying?" I ask, facing him.

He grins. "Not at all. You look as radiant as ever."

A blush creeps up my cheeks, and I look away to hide it. "Now I _know_ you're bullshitting me."

Brynjolf chuckles again and studies my face. "I may be a bit of a rogue, lass, but I swear I won't ever lie to _you_. Good luck out there, Dragonborn. I've got important things to do. We'll speak another time. And remember-"

"Anything I need?"

"Aye, lass," he says with a twinkle in his eye before departing.

I turn to Thrynn as Brynjolf unlocks the door to the Flagon and several curious people trickle in and go about their business with one eye on us. "Well? You coming with?"

Thrynn sighs and leans his back against the wall. "Can't. I got another job to do."

"Brynjolf gave you a different job?"

"Not Brynjolf. Mercer. Seemed upset I went with you last night and told me to get a job from Vex or Delvin."

"Gods," I groan. "Is it normal for him to be this critical of new people?"

"He's always been a no-nonsense kind of guy, but I've never seen him like this. He's probably just stressed out from the state of things."

You two talking about Mercer?"

Thrynn and I look around to see Vipir 'the Fleet' casually walking over. "Yeah," Thrynn says. "He didn't seem to like Rhiannon and I doing Goldenglow together, so he told me to get a side job while Rhiannon does something for Maven."

Vipir cocks his head to the side. "If he wanted to get more jobs done, he would have asked the rest of us to take some on too. Right?"

"Makes sennse," I say. "We could test it out. Vipir, wanna do the Maven thing with me?"

"I'd be honored, Dragonborn," he says with a wide smile and low bow.

Thrynn rolls his eyes. "Don't get too much shit on your nose, Fleet. Have fun, I guess, guys. I'm off to see Delvin." He audibly grumbles on his way towards the Flagon, getting a laugh from Vipir.

He looks over me and offers me the crook of his arm. "Shall we?" 


	17. Blood Gets Thin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhiannon takes a slight detour between Thieves Guild jobs to kick some necromancer ass. 
> 
> Also an excessive amount of horny posting.

"You're the one? You don't look like much to me."

"We really don't need to chat. What's the job?"

Maven Black-Briar's eyes widen, but she almost looks impressed. "Well you're a firebrand, aren't you? It's about time Brynjolf sent someone with business sense. I have a man in Whiterun. Mallius Maccius. He's working on setting this in motion and will contact you when he's ready for your role. I believe it will be about a week. Now leave me."

I nod and lead Vipir back through the crowded inn. His pale face holds an unsettled grimace. "Well, we've got some time to kill. I'd like to go home and get some supplies and relax until we need to be in Whiterun. Sound good to you?"

"I'll follow wherever you go, Dragonborn. You have a home?"

"Two. And we'll have to stop by both of them."

"Oh honey, I'm home," I call out as I enter Breezehome.

"Rhiannon?" Lydia turns the corner into the living room, her face lit up by a smile. "Good to see you, my Thane. What ha- wait, who's this?"

Vipir has a dopey grin as if all of his dreams have just come true. My eyes roll back as I hug my Housecarl. "This is Vipir. He's with the Thieves Guild. So am I now apparently."

"My Thane, with all due respect, you're a moron." Vipir snorts from behind me. "You're still getting over Bi-"

"Lydia." One glaring look from me is enough to shut her up. "Vipir and I are doing a job together. That's it. We're staying the night here before heading to Solitude to prep, and then we'll be back here for the job in a week or so. Excuse me. I'm going to bathe. Alone." 

Was that too harsh? Oh well. There's no way I'm talking about Bishop in front of Vipir. 

The night passes with only slight tension, and we arrive in Solitude early the next evening. It takes a day to unload loot and get supplies together for the next trip. On the second full day back, the same courier from Riften shows up at my door. "Ah, I've been-"

"Looking for you, your hands only, got a letter. Yeah, I got it. Thank you."

The courier blushes and hands me two sealed letters. One from Cas and one with a sigil I vaguely recognize but can't place.

'My Rhiannon- I love you with my whole heart, but by the Divines, you are too stubborn for your own good. How many times and in how many ways must I say this? None of this is your fault, and I am not doing it for you. This is about fixing my own mistake. I shouldn't have become a paladin, and not because of you, but because it was not the right path for me. My love for you is simply one more thing that proves that.

'I am genuinely sorry for your loss of Bishop. I would be lying if I claimed I personally ached for him, but I know he was important to you, and I understand the pain you must be in.

'That said, do not think that the purpose of me revoking my vows is in some way nullified by you not seeking an intimate relationship. As I said, the decision is for myself, and it's one I would choose regardless of my chance to be with you. You have said many times that I'm your best friend. You're mine, too. I would like to keep it that way, no matter what else may come. - Yours always, Casavir'

I groan from the dining table where I read the letter, getting a raised eyebrow from Vipir, who's devouring a horrid smelling stew. "Alright, _you_ cook next time if you're going to complain this much."

"It's not you and your bowl of dog vomit," I say, rolling my eyes as I peel open the next letter. 

'Dragonborn- At the request of Jarl Elisif, I would like to invite you to the Blue Palace. There is a situation that puts us in need of mercenary services, and the Jarl has her mind set on you since hearing you have returned to town. I understand you are a busy person, so if you are unable to take the job, that's quite alright. Between the two of us, I do not believe this to be a very pressing matter, but the Jarl is insistent. If you are interested, please come see me at your earliest convenience. -Falk Firebeard.'

Falk and I have spoken on several occasions, and I enjoyed him. I've met Elisif once or twice, and while she was caring and beautiful, she lacked the discernment of a leader. Falk is most likely right about it not being a pressing matter, but if Elisif is insistent, then she'll ensure I'm well paid. 

"Alright, Vipir. Get your things. We're going to the Blue Palace."

All the color drains from his face. "Uh...Rhiannon, I'm not sure the palace of the most powerful ruler in Skyrim is the best place for thieves."

I pat his shoulder as I pass him to grab my cloak. "Vipir, above all else, I'm the Dragonborn. Add my parents being nobility to that, and I'm forced to keep up a certain image. Why do you think I got you different armor before we left Riften? I can't be seen running around with the Thieves Guild. Just let me do the talking, and you'll be fine."

We make our way to the palace, and soon all of Vipir's fears have faded. He mischievously eyes a vase in the entrance hall and begins reaching for it, but I smack his hand.

"Dragonborn!" Falk approaches to greet us, clasping my hand in his. "It's a pleasure to see you again. And who's this?"

"This is Vipir, a fellow adventurer."

Falk takes Vipir's hand and gives it a firm shake, an empty smile politely on his face. "Pleasure to meet you, Vipir."

Falk informs us that a concerned citizen of Dragon Bridge came to voice his fear over strange noises coming from a nearby cave. "I'm positive you'll find nothing more than a few wolves. Maybe a troll, worst case."

"I'll get it taken care of, Falk," I say with a smile.

"Thank you, Dragonborn."

Falk bows slightly, and I cluck my tongue at him. "How many times now have I told you to call me Rhiannon?" I ask teasingly.

"Thank you, Rhiannon," he says, so soft it's practically a whisper. 

Vipir and I head down the stairs and out the door before he speaks. "So...has he bedded you or does he just _want_ to?"

My jaw drops. "Neither! What kind of question is that?"

"Ahh, so he wants to, but you're the oblivious type."

"Do you want to get punched? Because this is how you get punched."

Vipir chuckles and wraps an arm around my waist. "I guess I'll have to be more forward to catch your attention."

Within a moment, the smirk is wiped from his face by my fist making contact with his gut. " I told you that's how you get punched," I say as he doubles over with a groan. "Make a move on me again, and you'll be in much worse shape. Am I clear?"

"Crystal," he moans.

"I need to speak with Falk Firebeard. I know it's late, but this is urgent."

The guard I approached raises a brow but nods. "Right this way, Dragonborn." He leads me to the door to Falk's room, giving a quick knock and pausing. 

"Come in," Falk's voice says from the other side.

The guard pokes his head in. "The Dragonborn is here for you, my lord."

"Oh! By all means, send her in." The guard holds open the door for me and Vipir before exiting and closing it behind him. "Dra- Rhiannon! I didn't expect you to return until tomorrow."

"A group of necromancers were trying to summon and bind Potema in Wolf Skull Cave," I say flatly, causing Falk's face to turn ghostly white.

"Potema? The Wolf Queen? By Oblivion, woman, tell me you stopped them," he pleads. 

I nod. "It's taken care of. I just wanted to let you know as soon as possible."

He lets out a heavy sigh of relief. "Thank the gods. You've done a greater service to the realm than you can know" Grabbing a clinking pouch from his desk, he steps close to me and places it in my hands. "This is the payment I had set aside for you, but given the circumstances, I believe more is in order. Come back tomorrow, and I'll give you the rest of what you earned."

I wave at him dismissively. "That's really not nec-"

"I'll have none of your objections. You come and get it by noon tomorrow or I'll have it sent to your home," he says with a smirk.

And send it he does, more or less. My sundial reads half past noon when a knock on the front door echoes through the manor. I groan and open it to reveal Falk himself, holding a much larger pouch than the night before. I lean back to Vipir, who followed me to the door. "Stay very still and he won't see us."

Falk chuckles and extends his arm to hand me the pouch. "On behalf of Solitude- and realistically, all of Tamriel- thank you for your service in ridding us of that terrible danger."

"Yeah, yeah, you don't need to be so dramatic about it," I say, begrudgingly taking the pouch. "Nor did you need to come all this way to bring it. I don't want your day interrupted because of me."

"It's no interruption, Rhiannon. Listen, I...how long will you be in town?"

My eyes blink in confusion at the question. "Uh...we're not sure yet. We're waiting to hear from someone about another contract. Why?"

"I see. Well, I was wondering if perhaps you would join me for dinner before you depart?" he asks hesitantly.

"Wait what?" My voice blends with Vipir's as we simultaneously process what he's asking.

Falk gives us half a smile but still looks nervous. "Just you, I mean," he clarifies to me. "Apologies, Vipir."

"I know what you meant," Vipir says with narrowed eyes. "You'll have to wait in line."

"Excuse me?" I slowly turn my head towards my companion, and I see the color drain from his face at my expression of unadulterated wrath. "What exactly is this 'line'? I'm all ears."

Vipir stammers for several seconds before managing a chocked response. "I...well...see, Cynric and I...and then Niruin also said he, you know, and uh...."

I silence him with a single raised finger. "Falk, unfortunately I will not be able to join you for dinner. There are some asses that need my boot up them immediately, so we'll be heading out of town now."

Falk stares at me with wide eyes and a gaping mouth, and I can't tell whether he's amused, mortified, or in awe. "I understand. Perhaps next time."

"We only slept like five hours!"

"Tough. We need to get to Riften by the end of the day so we can come back here when we need to for Mal- son of a bitch!" I shout, spotting a courier approaching Breezehome from out the window.

"Ah, I've been looking-"

"Letter," I demand with an outstretched palm. The courier's dejected grumbling falls on deaf ears as I rip it open. "Looks like your pals are safe for one more day. We gotta go see Mallus."

"I couldn't care less about them. I've already learned _my_ lesson," he mumbles, studying his black eye in the reflection of his dagger.

Many dead skeevers and one poisoned vat of mead later, we enter the room of Sabjorn, the owner of Honningbrew Meadery and rival of Maven's. "What exactly are we looking for? We got rid of Sabjorn."

"Information on his private partner. By Ysmir, try to pay attention," I say with half a smile. "Got it. Huh. Same person that bought Goldenglow," I say when I find a letter with the same dagger-like symbol on it. I frown and tuck the letter into my pocket before heading home in the light of the setting sun.

"I told you guys she wouldn't like it," Thrynn says, clucking his tongue at the other men keeled over and clutching their...assets. 

"Let me get one thing straight, boys. None of you are in line for anything related to me or my body. Is that understood?"

The men all nod, whimpering too much to use their voices.

"Rhiannon. What in Oblivion is going on here, lass?"

I turn to see Brynjolf approach from the entrance to the cistern, brow furrowed tightly. "Just teaching the boys a lesson about how to treat women."

Brynjolf's look of disapproval vanishes, and he snorts. "Fair enough. I got word from Maven that you did perfectly, lass. Well done," he says, looking almost...proud? "I'd like to speak with you privately for a moment, if I may."

"Of course." I throw a glance back to Thrynn, who shrugs, before following Brynjolf to the empty training room. "What's up, Bryn?"

He seems distracted by his thoughts as he absentmindedly cups his rough hand over his lower face before answering. "Maven showed me the letter you found from his partner. Same symbol as the one from Goldenglow. Did you see?"

I nod, trying to focus, but my eyes are locked on the veins bulging from his forearms. I've never seen him in short sleeves before, and he's surprisingly muscular for a sneak thief. 

Okay, calm the fuck down.

"This is no coincidence. Somebody's trying to drive a wedge between Maven and the Guild. Mercer think he may have found something in the Goldenglow document that can point us in the right direction, and he asked me to send you his way."

I study the way Brynjolf's brows are stitched together in what looks like concern. "Alright...so why ask to talk to me privately just for that?"

He hesitates as he searches for the right words. "Just...be careful. I've never seen him this angry before."

"Oh. I'll be fine, Bryn," I say with a confused smile before turning to leave.

"Lass?"

Looking back, I see Brynjolf step forward towards me before he gingerly reaches up and strokes a lock of hair from my face. His cheeks instantly darken to match his fiery hair. "You uh...had something...there. Apologies. I forgot you don't like being touched, and I'm sorry if I shouldn't have do-"

A chuckle and a raise of my hand stop his stammering. "It's fine," I say calmly, despite my heart hammering against my ribs. Only it wasn't out of fear this time. And for the first time, I see a light at the end of the tunnel I've been trapped in since Bishop's death. It still doesn't feel quite right, but I'm getting there. "I only don't like it when it takes me by surprise." 

I watch the subtle shifts in Brynjolf's face as he processes what I said until it settles with a raised eyebrow and crooked grin. "So...is _this_ alright?" He lifts his hand again and traces a finger along my jawline. A soft sigh escapes my lips as my eyes flutter closed and I lean into his touch.

"Uh...." Both of us whip our heads around to see Rune standing uncomfortably in the entrance to the hall. "Sorry for the...interruption. Mercer wants to see you both right away. Seems pretty upset...."

"Thanks, lad. We'll be right there," Bryn says, forcing a smile.

"Alright then...I'm going to go now," Rune stammers before hightailing it out of sight.

I pop my lips. "Well. We should probably-"

"Yeah, right. After you, lass."

We take the hall back to the cistern and stop in front of Mercer, who's pouring over documents on his desk. "Took you two long enough. Care to explain?"

"Just asking about her trip," Brynjolf says smoothly. "Seeing if she found any other information that might be useful. What have you found?"

Mercer huffs and explains that the Bill of Sale mentioned an Argonian the Guild has worked with who acted as broker for the deal. I need to find him and get whatever information I can from him.

"I'll take care of it," I assure him, flashing him a smile that he responds to with a heavy glare. "Vipir and Thrynn are busy with other jobs, so I think I'll bring along one of the others and get to know them."

"What? No. They...I have other jobs for them to do," he growls through clenched teeth.

"Oh! I see. Damn."

"Brynjolf will give you details on Gulum-Ei. I have more important things to do. Go."

Before I can say anything else, Brynjolf grabs my arm and drags me back to the training room. "What in Oblivion was _that_ about?"

"Just testing something. Thrynn and Vipir don't have other jobs. There _aren't_ any other jobs. They checked. So they both wanted to tag along with me again."

"Lass...," Bryn starts, looking conflicted. "I like you, and you've been great for the Guild so far, but you don't want to get on Mercer's bad side. You're putting yourself in dangerous territory."

I shake my head. "I've been in dangerous territory this whole time. I know I don't know Mercer well, but he's been digging for reasons to hate me since I joined. Even you said he's not normally like this. The boys thought he's acting strange too, so we decided to test it out."

Brynjolf groans and rubs his chin. "Just...be careful, lass," he finally says.

"I always am." He raises a brow at my grin. "Okay, I _usually_ am."


End file.
